


Beautiful Nightmares

by fiveboysxtheworld



Series: Beautiful Nightmares [1]
Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveboysxtheworld/pseuds/fiveboysxtheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmare:  An unpleasant dream that can cause a strong negative emotional response from the mind, typically fear or horror, but also despair, anxiety and great sadness.</p><p>Harry Styles of One Direction has been having terrifying dreams for the past week. </p><p>But in these dreams, the typical monsters cease to exist. Instead, Harry's nightmares consist of two lovers undergoing the painful crisis of separation. Whether its death or fate that tears them apart, the two young men vow to love one another forever.</p><p>Besides the awkwardness of having gay dreams while being a heterosexual, Harry knows these two boys.</p><p>One is him.</p><p>And the other?</p><p>Louis Tomlinson, his best friend and band mate that has a beautiful girlfriend.</p><p>As the dreams fail to conclude their journey through his mind, something deep inside of Harry begins to stir; something close to his heart. As the questions of why he's having these nightmares threaten to overwhelm him, Harry is forced to confront himself on the one question he never thought he'd have to ask himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> NOTICE: This work was completed in just under a year, and I have improved my writing abilities since I first began writing this. Thus, I wanted to apologize for the absolute crappiness of the first few chapters :) Thanks for reading! Have fun!!
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> fiveboysxtheworld xx.

He stares out at the waves menacingly crashing against the rocks, on which he is currently standing on. The sea breeze blows his hair back, playing loosely with the dark mass of curls on top of the boy’s head. Gazing out at the ocean and the dark puffy clouds floating above the horizon, the boy squints his jade green eyes.

 

Peering around for someone that wasn’t coming back, the boy sighs in utter defeat. He drops his head until his chin meets his chest, tears springing to his eyes. The tall grass ripples backwards, the wind howling in despair. The boy drops to his knees and places his head in his hands. Weeping silently, the boy curls his back as he sobs into the cliff’s flowers.

 

“Why?” he wonders out loud, but his words catch in the wind and are torn away from his frowning mouth.

 

~~~~

Miles away, another boy fights to stay conscious.

 

The blackness threatens to overtake the young man that lies on the worn floorboards of a ship’s cabin. Blood pours from the gash on his upper left cheek, spilling in crimson rivulets down his striped shirt. Purpled bruises cover his tan skin, leaving spots of imperfection on his body.

 

Aching all over, the boy pushes his eyes open, examining the cabin’s worn features accusingly with his bright crystal blue eyes. The boy groans in frustration. He knows of his fate; the one he had so desperately tried to fight. The boy had broken his promise and had failed in every way.

 

The boy’s eyes droop shut in defeat, closing off his view of the wooden cabin. Darkness seeps into his vision, consuming every bit of the young man’s sight with its suffocating blackness. Bony grey hands reach eagerly for the boy, whispering reassuring words regardless of the dangerous and evil atmosphere they have.

 

But before the boy gives into the hand’s unconsciousness, he murmurs the name of the person he loved; the one who had kept him fighting for so long.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

I shoot upright from my bed, shaking with fear. I had been having reoccurring nightmares about two boys for the past week. I kick the tangled mess of white hotel bed sheets away from my trembling body and take a huge gulp of air.

 

In every horrible dream, one of the young men either dies or is commanded to permanently stay away from the other. The nightmares are depressing without the incredibly realistic graphics my sub-consciousness creates while sleeping. Between the gory scenes of manslaughter and death, my mind had created a dramatic love story about two young men.

 

I know right? Harry Styles of One Direction should not be having gay dreams. I’ve always been straight and I always will be. But these dreams seem to stir up something inside of me; an object slightly on the left side just inside my chest’s skin.

 

Think that’s scary enough? Think again, because I know those two boys in my dreams. Who are they you might ask?

 

Well one of them is me.

 

The other?

 

He’s my band mate and best friend.

 

Louis Tomlinson.


	2. Chapter 2

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

Whistling one of the latest catchy tunes on the radio through my pursed lips, I make my way down the penthouse level of the hotel’s corridor. I toss my phone up and catch it with every step I take, now turning to humming the popular yet already annoying song.

 

When I reach room 265 – the one I share with Harry – I pull my rectangular room key out of my back pocket and shove it in the slot. Still humming as the lock clicks open, I push open the door and I’m welcomed by the disorganized hotel room. Mine and Harry’s clothes are strewn over the floor in random spots, our hair brushes and products spilling messily on a dresser, my collection of TOMS are pilled on top of one another sky high in the far corner and Harry’s colognes are carelessly placed on the kitchenette countertops.

 

“Honey I’m home!” I holler in an overdramatic and falsetto voice, placing the bags of items to do with the tour down, that Paul had given me for Harry and I.

 

Normally Harry would yell something equally cheesy back, but I’m only welcomed by a prolonged silence.

 

“Harry? Where are you?” I ask, but again, I’m met with no answer.

 

Before I left to go take the bags off of Paul – who was patiently waiting for me – Harry had been sleeping; rather restlessly I might add. Harry had made no move yesterday to talk to me about going out on the town this morning, but who knows – that’s Harry for you. He probably met some girl while we were at the bar last night and decided to take her out for a breakfast date; a typical charming Harry move. But nevertheless, I still feel a little overprotective of him as he’s the youngest and the closest of the lads to me. We always tell each other where we’re going, even if it’s as simple as visiting the small Mc Donald’s across the street.

 

I pick up my I phone from where I had previously placed it on the kitchenette’s marble countertops and type in the pass code. It unlocks with a barely audible click and opens to my latest conversation with Eleanor.

 

We were going through a bit of a rough patch, as she didn’t like how I was going out to all these bars with the lads. She’s just being too overprotective after I got drunk that one time and acted like a right git. I’ve been more responsible lately, only having two or three drinks after that mistake, so I don’t see why she should be concerned. If anything, she should be worried about Niall getting too drunk and people taking embarrassing pictures of him and his friends. No offense to him, but he’s had it happen the most.

 

Shaking my head as if to clear the argument, I exit the conversation with Eleanor and tap on the contact listed as Hazza.

 

Blue (Louis): Where have you disappeared off to Hazza?

 

I press the send button and the bar on the top stretches until white fills the entire rod.

 

I hear a muffled ‘ding’ that sounds from Harry’s bedside table. I tread on the elegant carpet with gold swirls over to the dark hardwood nightstand. Tossing Harry’s Ramones shirt off of the salt and pepper marble surface, I spot his I phone resting on the table. It’s lit up with my message that I had sent two seconds ago.

 

I furrow my brow in confusion. Harry never goes anywhere without his phone; the lads and I even tease him about the phone getting attached to his hand because he’s always holding onto it. A swirling sensation starts up in the pit of my stomach, sending worry throughout my entire body. Something has happened to Harry.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

Sweat pours down my pale forehead and my cheeks are flushed a bright pink as I pull my body upwards once again, using my abdominal muscles to complete the sit-up. I relax the tense muscles below my stomach and lay my back flat on the ground. Making sure my arms are still crossed securely over my chest, I repeat the rep another time. I keep doing this until my abs are sore and shaking with fatigue. Only then do I push myself to do ten more repetitions of the crunches.

 

I blow out my breath in a rush from my pursed lips, as I finally let my body collapse onto the floor, face side up. I had gone to the gym soon after being startled awake by the haunting nightmare of Louis dying in the ship’s cabin. Not only are these terrifying dreams realistic, I can remember them vividly. Normally you forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but these nightmares stick onto me like glue. When I broke up with Caroline, I had gone to the gym often to block out the voices in my head and the sadness that comes along with every conclusion of a romantic relationship. So I figured that I would chase away the horrible dreams by working out, but so far it isn’t helping.

 

I sigh, closing my eyes while crossing my arms beneath my head.

 

The boy howls with the wind, his mouth spread wide open in anger. Pounding his fists into the red soil, he screams out his frustration. The boy turns into an animal of rage, destructing anything and everything in his path. He rips out the plants, begging them to feel his pain; he throws rocks at the trees, bellowing at them to understand his aching.

 

He wails higher and louder than the wind, blaming everyone for his suffering. But in truth, deep down in his soul, the boy knows that it’s his fault. In honor of this, the boy stops his fit. He quiets down until the only thing he can hear is the wind whistling in his ears and the waves crashing against the sharp rocks.

 

The boy walks over to the edge, his brown curly hair blowing straight in the ocean’s strong breeze. Looking down at the jagged black rocks he makes his decision. Taking a step backwards for momentum, the boy launches himself off of the edge of the cliff, his green orbs shining with the last glimmer of life.

 

I jerk awake from the daydream, banging my head painfully on the tiled floor of the gym. My heart is galloping, racing with an extremely fast pace. I struggle to control my breaths, which have become ragged and uneven. I gather my body and stand up, feeling the need to move, to do anything but lay there. I race over to one of the lonely treadmills and press the start button. Cranking up the pace, I begin a mad sprint.

 

But no matter how fast I run, I can still feel the cool breeze on the back of my neck – the breath of death that I felt when the dream me committed suicide.


	3. Chapter 3

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

Gathering up Harry’s I phone in my shaking hands, I bolt out of hotel room, barely managing to grab my cellular device and room card on the way. I slam the heavy oak door shut and begin a mad dash down the hall towards one of the many available metallic lifts at the end of the corridor.

 

I barrel down the hall, slipping scarcely past the maids that have cluttered up the corridor with their cleaning supply carts. When I reach the elevators, I bang on the down button so forcefully I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter from my finger’s impact. I press on it again, repeatedly pushing the button down.

 

When the lift doesn’t arrive within ten seconds of desperately pushing the button, I make a snap decision. I bustle over to the emergency exit stairs and rip open the door in a powerful manner. With the steps flying past my feet, I make my way down the stairs at a furious pace.

 

Fifteen levels later, at the bottom of the staircase, I push the doors open and burst out into the chilly spring air. Although goose bumps rise on my arms from the lack of clothing – I only have a thin striped t-shirt on – I don’t care. I continue running like a crazy person down the sidewalk.

 

As I’m tearing down the side of the road, I start to think of the consequences that could happen if someone sees me. I don’t have a sweater, nor any sunglasses to cover up the fact that I’m from the popular boy band One Direction. I peek out of the corner of my eyesight at the pedestrians casually walking down the footpath. They’re mostly a cluster of business people, but who knows, a fan could be in their midst. I was lucky enough to go out the back way were none of the patiently waiting girls are camped outside the hotel entrance. As much as I love and cherish our fans, I need to find Harry before I’ll sign any autographs or take any pictures.

 

Suddenly a squeal rises above any of the hushed murmurs the pedestrians make.

 

“Oh my God! It’s Louis Tomlinson!”

 

“Sh*t!” I swear under my breath and sprint faster down the pavement.

 

I whip my head around to face a growing crowd of teenage females chasing me down the sidewalk. I give them a half-smile and a quick wave before turning my head back around. But instead of the sidewalk stretching before me, I’m met with someone’s green t-shirt as I collide with them.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

Pulling up my sunglasses to rest them on my beanie that’s currently restraining my wild curls, I stroll casually down the footpath, gym bag in hand.

 

After the terrifying daydream – or should I say day mare – I had ran until my mind was completely blank. Cardio workouts did the one thing that muscular ones couldn’t – clear my brain of any unwanted thoughts.

 

I walk slowly down the sidewalk, turning my head from side to side, glancing at the business men and women that swarm the path like a bevy of bees. I wonder what my life would’ve turned out to be if I hadn’t been lucky enough with my success in One Direction.

 

I study the pedestrians, noting how stress is present in all their eyes. Maybe I could’ve turned out to be like one of them, my face lined with worry and my lips turned downwards in a permanent scowl. I could’ve been deprived of the luxuries I am blessed to have, making a life for myself instead of letting my singing do the work.

 

Shouts and squeals ring out from ahead of me, and a commotion begins to break loose. Immediately, my hand snaps up to pull my sunglasses over my eyes – shielding everyone’s view of my bright green orbs. I stop in my tracks, almost making a businessman topple over.

 

“Sorry sir!” I apologize to the older man.

 

He only shoots me a glare and continues briskly walking while typing furiously on his blackberry.

 

“At least I had the decency to say sorry,” I grumble underneath my breath.

 

Returning my attention to the screaming girls, I brainstorm possible escape routes. If there was only a crowd of about 15 girls, I wouldn’t mind as much. But without a bodyguard and the way the cluster of fans are multiplying, things could get dangerously out of hand.

 

I’m about to make a run for it and duck into the alley a couple of paces away when I see Louis barreling down the street, the swarm of fans hot on his heels. I roll my eyes; only Louis would be able to make that many girls chase after him. Louis twists his head around to face the girls and gives them a brief wave, before sprinting even faster.

 

A middle-aged man sporting a green shirt and an unzipped grey raincoat has his head buried in his phone and doesn’t seem to notice Louis running flat out; right in his path.

 

They collide, Louis bouncing off his round beer belly and the man is thrown off balance – obviously startled. The fans gasp and make a mad dash for Louis, hollering questions at him; asking if he was okay.

 

Without even thinking, I run over to Louis and the man, quickly grasping Louis’ wrist tightly with my hands. I pull him up, using the muscles in my arms. Louis looks at me, his stunning blue eyes filled with confusion.

 

“Sorry sir!” I apologize once again. I turn to Louis “Come on! Let’s get out of here!” I shout-whisper.

 

Louis nods his dazedly in agreement, obviously only paying half attention to what I’m saying.

 

“Louis are you even hearing a word I’m saying?!” I yell above the girls getting increasingly closer.

 

I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder at the fans, which are less then 100 meters away. Turning my head back around to look at Louis, I grab his wrist once again and begin pulling. Louis seems to snap out of his daydream and notices me trying to drag him to safety. Sliding his hand up from my grip on his wrist, he encloses his palm around mine, all the while grinning devilishly. A tingle runs down my spine as his fingers lace with mine.

 

“Let’s give them something to talk about huh?” Louis suggests, pointedly glancing at our intertwined hands.

 

My eyes enlarge in surprise and for a second, I forget how to breathe. I barely manage to nod my head slightly up and down in response. Wait a minute. I shouldn’t be getting flustered around Louis?! He’s my best mate; holding hands should mean nothing!

 

But I can’t help but admit that his warm hand in mine feels right – something I haven’t felt since the nightmares started.


	4. Chapter 4

LIAM’S P.O.V

 

I type away on my laptop, which is resting comfortably on my lap. Scrolling down my mentions on Twitter, I respond to a couple of the fans questions. The sound of giggling tears my attention away from the screen.

 

“Louis!” Harry squeals, laughter evident in his voice.

 

I hear the sound of shoes scuffing on the carpeted corridor and some grunts. What on earth is going on out there? I tweet a short yet sweet goodbye to the fans and close my laptop. I jump off my hotel bed and stroll over to the door, confused to as what Harry and Louis are doing outside in the hallway.

 

“Louis I’m dead serious!” Harry giggles.

 

I reach the hotel room’s door and pull down on the handle to open it. At the clicking noise it makes, the laughter immediately ceases. I step out into the corridor and see Harry and Louis entangled in a heap in the middle of the hall. Louis’ got Harry in a head lock, his biceps firmly squeezing Harry’s neck, keeping it in place. Harry’s got his left hand squarely planted on Louis’ face, squishing it and the other is trying to remove Louis’ death grip on his neck.

 

“What on earth are you two doing?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest in a dominant manner and cocking one eyebrow upwards.

 

“Well, um…Louis decided to uh, tackle me for no reason,” Harry explains, all the while smirking at Louis.

 

There’s a quick flicker of movement and Harry abruptly removes his hand from Louis’ face. Untangling himself from Louis, Harry wipes his hand on his slouchy grey t-shirt with a look of pure disgust formed on his features.

 

“Louis! EW! Liam he licked me!” Harry screeches, accusingly pointing a finger at Louis splayed out on the carpet chuckling.

 

I sigh, rolling my eyes at their immaturity.

 

“Do I need to separate you two again? Would anyone like the time-out chair?” I threaten like a mother scolding her disobedient children.

 

“No,” they reply in unison, their eyes cast downwards at the cranberry carpet adorned with gold patterning.

 

“Good,” I smile and drop my pretend angry act “Where did you guys disappear off to this morning anyways? Niall and Zayn said they saw Louis sprinting down the corridor like a madman,”

 

Louis and Harry exchange a quick but meaningful glance, their eyes locking with each other’s in some sort of silent communication. Louis bends his arm and scratches the back of his neck ever so “innocently” and coughs gently.

 

“We went to the Mc Donald’s across the uh, street,” Louis lies, his eyes never meeting mine.

 

“Yeah, across the street,” Harry echoes, not bothering to make eye contact with me as well.

 

I raise my eyebrow in obvious disbelief and gaze at them accusingly. The pair of them have never been the greatest liars in the past and they don’t seem to have developed any skills overnight.

 

“It was his fault okay?!” Harry shouts suddenly and pushes a surprised Louis towards me before taking off.

 

“What did you do?” I ask curiously, glaring at Louis’ sheepish expression.

 

They must’ve done something wrong. I wonder what they could’ve done this time?

 

My phone bleeps with a notice from twitter, the purple Sugarscape logo popping up on the screen. I hastily read the update and groan in reaction to the title of the article.

 

“Did you guys get mobbed by fans?! Louis, how many times have I said-” I stop mid-scold to find that Louis is already halfway down the corridor, laughter escaping his mouth.

 

“Seriously?!” I shout at his running figure.

 

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

I play around with my steak dinner, cutting up random bits and mashing them together with the peas on the side of my plate. The lads and I are at some meeting or dinner thingy where new staff for Simon's Syco label could possibly be hired. So far, it's been as interesting as watching paint dry.

 

Some middle-aged woman in a light grey pant suit and bright pink high-heeled shoes drones on about something to do with her success in the business world or something rather, obviously trying to impress Simon. She stands on the stage a couple of feet away from the table that the lads and I are sat at. So far, I could care less about what she’s trying to convince us of, as her perfume has an overwhelming smell, the scent of decomposing roses clogging my nasal passages. In other words, I could barely breathe. Okay, I know I could at least pretend to pay attention to her – show some respect - but in my defense I can’t concentrate when her body spray is suffocating me!

 

Taking a sip of my water, I turn my attention over to Harry. At least he's more interesting to look at then the smelly lady. 

 

Harry's eating his chicken slowly, his gorgeous green eyes glazed over in a bored manner. Wait a second; did I just call his eyes gorgeous? I must be hearing things. But I can’t hear things if I think them? Ugh, never mind your crazy thoughts Louis.

 

I reset my gaze on Harry, admiring the way his chocolate curls drape over his forehead in a messy and un-styled way, setting off his cheekbones covered in creamy skin. He tilts his head to the side as he chews, his curls shifting as his jaw moves up and down. A ringlet escapes the mass of dark hair and rests on the middle of his forehead. Sub-consciously, my hand inches towards the out of place hair, fingers twitching to fix the imperfection. But before my hand can rise further off of the white tablecloth, I notice what I’m doing. Grabbing my wrist, I slam my hand forcefully downwards on the table.

 

Everyone’s head spins around to face me and eyes try to meet mine. Even the lady making her speech stops mid-sentence to look at me. Harry’s eyebrows raise questioningly, his face lined with confusion.

 

“Is there a problem Louis?” Simon asks calmly, but I can see the annoyance clearly in his eyes.

 

I chuckle nervously and gulp. What is going on with me today? First off, when I was holding hands with Harry, I swore an electric current ran through my body. That had never happened before and I’m still confused as to why it did. I only got that tingling feeling when I was touching a girl I had romantic feelings for! I definitely didn’t have any feelings for Harry, as I’m straight as a toothpick; I even have a girlfriend for God’s sake! Plus we’ve held hands as a joke millions of times, so why would this time feel different? And now I was having urges to run my hands through his luscious curly hair? Dear God Louis, luscious? I really am going crazy; maybe some sleep would be beneficial.

 

I glance up at Simon from staring at my hands in concentration and give him a weak smile.

 

“No sir, my um…hand just fell asleep!” I quickly make up a lie and slam my hand repeatedly on the table “See, all better!”

 

Simon gives me an odd look - as if he doesn’t buy my story - but he turns back around to observe the lady. The woman starts talking again and everyone returns their attention to her but Harry; he’s gazing at me concernedly.

 

“Are you okay?” he mouths silently, still looking at me confusedly.

 

I nod in response, although the confusing emotions swirling around in my head are saying something else.


	5. Chapter 5

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

“I’m tired Haz – no more talking! Goodnight Hazza bear!” Louis calls out cheerfully as he turns the knob on the beside table’s lamp, submerging us in darkness.

 

“Night boobear!” I shout back and pull the heavy duvet over my body.

 

I sigh and attempt to relax my tense muscles. Shifting into a more comfortable position, I shut my eyes and exhale heavily. Hopefully the nightmares wouldn’t appear tonight; maybe I won’t even dream! Adjusting my head on the huge feather pillow, I regulate my breathing while slowly easing into a sleepy state.

 

Louis’ soft snores soon fill the room, his soothing breaths lulling me to unconsciousness...

 

~~~~

The rain pours down on the street heavily, filling the neighborhood with the sound of ferocious raindrops falling to the power of gravity. The buildings sag from the weight of the water, condensation running in rivers down their walls.

 

A boy, around the age of a young adult, pedals furiously on his bicycle. Not bothering to dodge around the massive puddles that occupy the sidewalks, the boy powers right through, murky rainwater splashing on his beige chinos. The gusts of violent wind shake the bike, unbalancing the boy precariously perched on the tip of the seat. The front wheel swings dangerously from side to side, sending wet dirt flying upwards toward the boy. The mud splatters on the boy’s grimacing face, the brown substance smearing on his pale skin. The boy yanks on the handlebars of the bicycle, which has now begun to make its decent towards the pavement. Reestablishing his equilibrium, the boy begins his mad dash through the pouring rain once again.

 

~~~~

Two blocks away, another boy has his faced pressed up to the window, completely ignoring the scene of chaos taking place directly behind him. Glass shatters and furniture snaps in half, the splintering wood cracking from pressure. Insults are thrown back and forth between the mother and father of the boy, their shouts getting increasingly louder with every broken object. The mother’s face is purple with rage, the vein in the woman’s neck popping out in fury. The father is a similar sight, his body shaking and red from anger. They scream violently, throwing one another’s prized possessions at each other in exasperation. The man holds the woman’s vase above his head before smashing it on the laminate floor. The expensive glass fractures into a million pieces as it hits the ground, resembling their broken marriage.

 

The boy cries silently, the tears overflowing from his eyes as they cascade in ripples down his cheeks stained red from blood. Maroon juice spills out from the cuts on the boy’s arms, the result of being a shield for his mother. As the boy twists his head around to face the warzone, something snaps inside of him.

 

The boy lets out a piercing scream, his mouth releasing the pent up emotions inside of him. The mother and father stop their rage fest to look at him, the menacing sound coming from the boy reverberating around the tiny house as it shakes the paper thin walls.

 

He glares at both of them in pure hatred, the disgust clear in his darkened blue eyes. The boy yells at them, angrily begging them to stop fighting. He swears at his parents for the first time, accusing them of being monsters; devils inside. The mother and father stare at him, both with a complete loss for words. They don’t even move a muscle as the boy grabs a rucksack filled with his few items that he owns and walks out of the door.

 

~~~~

Meanwhile, the boy on the bicycle nears the house of the other lad, shivering from the damp coldness that has crept underneath his dull olive green raincoat. The wind refuses to die down; continually whipping the boy’s discarded hood around in a swirling motion. His hair is soaked like the rest of his body, his once bouncy curls falling straight and flat in the torrent of rain suffocating the small English town. The boy pushes his feet down, cycling the pedals faster as the condensation smacks his face with the hardness of hail pellets.

 

The boy doesn’t know where he’s going. Neither does he remember why he started riding the bike in the first place. All he knows is that he’s running away. He’s desperately trying to escape something he fails to recall.

 

The boy stops pedaling, his legs finally coming to a rest. His soaked shoes, soggy with water, rest tiredly on top of the foot pedals as he gently squeezes the brakes of the bicycle. With only a slight squeaking protest from the aged restraints, the rusty bicycle screeches to a halt. Releasing a sigh from his lungs, the boy dismounts from the bike, swinging his leg over the seat.

 

~~~~

From across the street the other boy stands, blood dripping from his torn up arms onto his ratty sack. He squints through the foggy haze of the rain at the person in the green coat, his hand blocking the moisture from entering his stunningly bright blue eyes. As the person shakes his dark hair – sending water droplets flying all around him – the familiar ache begins to throb inside of the other boy’s heart. He recognizes the person that meant the world to him, before his world came crashing down to his feet.

 

~~~~

After the boy in the raincoat stashes his bike in the tangled mess of bushes on the side of the footpath, he glances up to meet the stare of the boy that broke his heart. Suddenly, the reason why he was running away seemed to make sense.

 

~~~~

As the boy in the raincoat reached for his bicycle once again, the other boy screams out his protest. Dropping his rucksack beside him on the soaking swamp of grass, the boy tears across the street, failing to recognize the fact that traffic was heading his way.

 

~~~~

The smacking sound of metal against human flesh echoes in the boy with the dark hair’s ears, haunting him forever. Bicycle forgotten, he sprints over to the fallen boy that already has crimson liquid pouring from his broken body. Legs’ flying in adrenaline, the boy reaches the other’s side.

 

~~~~

The white light is overwhelming for the injured boy. The angels call out his name, their feather soft hands reaching for him. They soothe him, reassuring that it wasn’t his fault that his parents had been fighting. Golden light streams down into the boy’s tunnel vision and joyful music begins to play in the background.

 

But just as the boy extends his arms, begging for the angels to take him, to release him of his grief, the other boy blocks his view. Peering down at the dying boy, the boy’s green orbs let loose tears, mixing with the rainwater already pouring down his pale face. He picks up the fallen boy, cradling him lovingly in his strong arms.

 

“I love you Louis,” he whispers before planting his lips onto the forehead of the boy that was almost gone.

 

Louis gazes up at his lover, the one that he had broken beyond repair. As the weight of death bore down on him, he weakly reached out for the boy he called Harry. Louis gently cupped Harry’s cheek in his fragile hand, pulling the boy towards him.

 

“I love you Harry,” Louis croaks, his voice cracking with emotion.

 

And with that, Louis connects their lips for the last time.

 

 

*STILL HARRY’S P.O.V*

 

I awaken from the nightmare, shaking and crying uncontrollably. Tears well up in my eyes and then overflow as my body quivers with racking sobs. I throw the covers off of me, hot liquid streaming down my face. Stepping down from the bed, I make my way over to the balcony’s sliding doors and pull them open; not even caring if I was making a ton of noise.

 

Drawing the glass door open with force, I step outside into New York City’s midnight air. The platform is bathed in the full moon’s light, which is surprisingly shining brightly through the city smog. The obnoxious sound of honking cars and some ambulance’s screeching sirens fill the night’s atmosphere, but fail to block out the sound of my wailing. Tears stream down my cheeks and follow the ridges of my face to rest in the corners of my mouth. I sniff, feeling the familiar pounding of a headache coming on.

 

I jump suddenly when a warm hand rests on my bare shoulder, the person’s breath tickling my neck.

 

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

The sound of Harry weeping violently wakes me up from my sleep, immediately worrying me. Why would he be crying so hard? Even better, why would he even be crying at all?

 

The sheets rustling and the sound of feet hitting the ground, tell me that Harry is standing up. There’s a soft scraping sound as he walks away from his bed, past mine and when he reaches the end of the room.

 

Why would he be going to that side of the room; where would he even go, through the wall?

 

My idiotic question is soon answered by the balcony door opening and the sound of noisy cars filling the hotel room. But even with all of NYC’s traffic noise – which is extremely loud I can tell you – I still hear Harry’s heartbreaking cries.

 

Okay, enough already. What the heck has happened? Why is he so depressed? I honestly hate seeing anyone become distressed, especially Harry. Harry is probably the most important person to me - other than my mum of course! And if he’s upset, I absolutely have to figure out why he is and then fix it.

 

Itching to investigate, I throw on a random pair of my discarded boxers and follow the sound of Harry’s sobs out onto the platform. As my eyes adjust to the city ablaze with nightlife, I can make out Harry’s figure doubled over in pain. His unruly hair rests in his hands, as tears hit the concrete ground of the balcony in front of him.

 

My frown deepens, the crease in my forehead becoming increasingly bigger. I reach out and rest my hand on his cold shoulder. His sobs stop immediately as he jerks back in fright and turns his head to stare at me, eyes widening in surprise.

 

“Haz, why on earth are you crying? What’s wrong?” I ask, concern filling my voice.

 

He looks at me with his bloodshot eyes red from crying and promptly bursts back into tears. Okay, something is seriously wrong. Code red serious. Harry rarely cries, except for when someone or something really upsets him. I honestly hadn’t seen him cry this much – even when he broke up with Caroline!

 

I pull him into a comforting hug and rub his back soothingly in large circles. He leans into my support and I can feel his trembling body start to relax. But before he does, I can feel his fear seeping through his body and entering mine. I frown in confusion, wondering once again how Harry managed to get this agitated.

 

“Harry what the hell happened?” I ask for the second time, hoping he would answer me this time – I really couldn’t handle him crying anymore, it tears me apart.

 

He sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, his sobs finally ceasing.

 

“I had a nightmare…I’ve been h-having them for the past w-week. They’re extremely t-terrifying,” Harry stutters, tears once again welling up in his eyes.

 

“What are they about? They must have to do with something petrifying! Honestly Haz, I’ve never seen you so worked up over a nightmare!” I say while looking into his jade green eyes, searching in their depths for an answer.

 

He drops my gaze and stares down at his feet.

 

“Nothing,” he snaps, his mood instantly turning cold.

 

I’ve definitely touched some kind of nerve; Harry normally tells me everything.

 

“Are you sure, they seem to-”

 

“I said nothing!” Harry cuts me off, a rude and edgy tone to his voice.

 

My face falls in disappointment and I gaze down in embarrassment at the concrete floor. I was only trying to help him!

 

“Oh no, Lou I’m sorry, don’t be upset!” Harry pleads, lifting my chin up with his hand “I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t think talking about them will…I’m trying to forget, you know?”

 

I nod, a small smile making its way onto my face although I still feel a pang of hurt that Harry doesn’t want to tell me about them. I believe I can help him if I knew what he’s so terrified of!

 

Harry grins back, showing off his perfectly straight teeth.

 

“C’mon let’s go back to bed, shall we?” I suggest, gesturing towards the hotel room.

 

I begin walking back inside when Harry calls my name.

 

“Yes?”

 

Harry’s smile has faded and the look of fear is present once again in his eyes. He drops his gaze and mumbles something underneath his breath.

 

“I’m sorry Haz, I can’t hear you?”

 

He looks up to meet my eyes; his cheeks flushed a brilliant colour of red.

 

“Um…” he pauses, his voice cracking with embarrassment “You need to, uh…I don’t know how to put this without seeming awkward…could you sleep with me?”

 

I chuckle to myself, my inner genius working.

 

“Anytime babe,” I say in a sexual tone and throw him a wink, completely turning his question dirty.

 

He rolls his eyes, the blush reaching all the way down his neck.

 

“You know what I mean! But seriously, I’m still…well kind of, uh…scared. Jeez, I sound like a girl!” he exclaims, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

 

“It’s okay Haz – I understand, I have four sisters,”

 

He glares at me, but the corners of his mouth are tipped upwards.

 

“Shut-up…don’t make me hurt you Tommo,” he taunts me playfully, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

 

I flash him a grin and step back into the air-conditioned hotel room.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

After we came back inside, I thought Louis forgot about what I asked – as he returned to his own bed. But minutes later, his warm body slipped into my bed, his arms wrapping protectively around me.

 

“I thought you forgot…what were you doing?” I whisper as my face reddens in embarrassment – I was glad I didn’t have to ask him that question to his face.

 

“Oh you know, duty calls,” Louis replies, laughter creeping into his voice.

 

“Ok-ay…?” I say, but it comes out more like a question.

 

“Haz, I farted – I know you don’t appreciate me farting when I’m in the same bed as you,” Louis tells me in a dead serious tone.

 

I burst out laughing at his statement.

 

“Thank you Boo,”

 

“Anytime Haz,”

 

We sigh collectively and I begin to drift off into sleep, not scared anymore of any nightmares; as the real Louis is safe and sound, sleeping right next to me.

 

He tightens his arms around my waist, sending tingles shooting up my spine. I sigh once again and fall into dreamland, ever comfortable with Louis protecting me.


	6. Chapter 6

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

My eyes flutter open, heavy with fatigue. Yawning with my mouth wide open, I attempt to stretch my arms over my head, but they appear to be restricted from doing so. I frown sleepily, my forehead creasing in confusion. Why couldn’t I move my arms? Had they suddenly become dislocated from my body?

 

Blinking rapidly as I try and think of the possible reasons why my limbs wouldn’t budge from the bed, my gaze shifts to a lump hidden underneath the covers directly beside me. Rich chocolate-coloured brown curls poke out from below the clump of hotel bed sheets, immediately notifying my brain that someone is occupying the bed with me. And that someone is Harry.

 

My faces burns red, the blood rushing to my face as I recall the events of last night.

 

I look down at my arms that are still tightly wrapped around his waist, trapped underneath his body weight. Our bodies are also in close proximity to one another, legs tangled together in a mass of limbs and chests pressed against each other’s own.

 

I glance back up at Harry; my cheeks flushed a bright pink in contentment. My stomach was swirling around in some sort of excitement, an alien emotion that I didn’t know or even understand how to react to it. Frowning, I shake my head, hoping to rid the butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach. That’s just ridiculous – that absurdly marvelous feeling of being close to my best mate – it’s totally and utterly ludicrous.

 

I turn my attention back to the boy sleeping next to me, ignoring the confusing thoughts inside my head. Harry snores softly, curls flicking upwards with every exhale, the delicate ringlets flittering around. My gaze travels downwards to his eyelids, which are closed but relaxed; the pale ivory skin hiding the tiredness that seems to occupy Harry’s expression so often. Now that I think about it, Harry seems to be more stressed out in the past week than he’s ever been. From his constant movement – whether it was the twiddling of his thumbs or working out continuously – he can’t seem to sit still. He always seems to be absent minded in the meetings, eyes glazed over in boredom and his mind obviously miles away. I frown in concern; why has he been acting so weird? It’s not like him to be so uninterested – he’d at least bother to pretend to care. As I’m thinking this, his forehead creases, lines covering the skin as his lips pull downwards in a grimace.

 

My eyebrows knit together in worry. The typical Harry smirk seems to have been replaced by a nonchalant expression; even when he’s sleeping. Removing one arm from his waist, I reach out with my hand to smooth the wrinkles away. My thumb rubs against his warm forehead, sending tingles shooting up my arm but the lines on his skin relax, disappearing from sight as his face relaxes in a comfortable manner. A smile reaches my lips, pulling the corners of my mouth upwards. Now that’s more the Haz I’ve come to know and love.

 

Love. The words echo in my head, sending my stomach into a fit of twisting into intricate knots. Did I just think that? Impossible. Preposterous. Nope, I definitely did not. I couldn’t of. I must be hearing things…or at least hearing my thoughts wrong!

 

“But you love him in a brotherly way Louis – why are you being bothered by this?” a voice in my mind whispers.

 

I contort my face in confusion. Why would I be bothered by this? It’s not like I’m in love with him or something completely manically deranged like that…right?

 

Shaking my head once again to dispel my insane thoughts, I concentrate on Harry’s facial expression. His mouth has dropped in relaxation, not tight and pinched like it had been seconds ago. His frown lines are gone, replaced by smooth pale skin. The smile returns to my face and I lean forwards, closer to his face. My breath catches in my throat when I realize what I’m doing, but yet I fail to back away. Inching even closer to Harry’s face, I shift a clump of dark curls before pressing my lips lightly on his forehead.

 

I back away in shock, in complete surprise of my actions. But what scares me even more is the smile that plants itself onto Harry’s lips afterwards.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

Shoving the bread into my mouth, I devour the sandwich hungrily. Spare strands of lettuce escape my lunch and drop onto the paper wrapper, but I don’t care. I can feel the lads staring at me, burning holes in the side of my head, but all I can think about is the deliciousness of my sandwich.

 

I observe the lads from the corner of my eye, looking at Louis as he snickers, nudging Zayn with his elbow. Zayn turns to look at the Cheshire cat grin planted smugly on Louis’ face, as he points his outstretched finger at me. Zayn follows Louis’ hand to glance at me and his lips turn upwards into a grin, laughter escaping his mouth.

 

I finally look up, mustering an innocent expression.

 

“What?” I mumble through a mouthful of food.

 

They exchange a glance and burst out laughing, Niall and Liam following suit.

 

“Harry…are you going to finish that sandwich or can I eat it?” Louis asks, locking eyes with me.

 

I scowl at his smirking face and take another bite out of my club sandwich. I chew the gratifying taste of the food and swallow, all the while glaring at Louis.

 

“I don’t know Louis…can you?” I reply sarcastically before continuing to eat my lunch.

 

Louis rolls his eyes in annoyance, but a faint smile pulls on his lips.

 

“That’s the oldest joke in the book,”

 

“Oh so now all of a sudden you’re a writer?” I challenge him, grinning playfully.

 

Louis rolls his eyes once again but returns my stare, narrowing his eyes mischievously. Flipping his tousled fringe backwards, he waves me off with a flick of his hand.

 

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he lies, flipping his nose upwards in a snobbish manner.

 

“Whatever you say J.K. Rowling.”

 

“Whatever you say Harry Potter.”

 

I shoot him a dirty look. He and the lads know fully well that the Harry Potter reference was one of my pet peeves. But still, I know he’s just poking fun at me.

 

Embarrassingly enough, I seem to be in a great mood this morning, as the nightmares failed to return after Louis slept with me. I blush, thinking of how dirty that sounds. But why should I even care – he’s my best mate, it doesn’t mean anything.

 

“Then how do you explain the warm feeling that you got last night? Does that not mean something?” a contradicting voice argues inside my head.

 

Feeling hotness creeping up my neck, I flush redder as I think back to last night when Louis’ arms were securely wrapped around my waist. I have honestly never felt so safe - reassured that the nightmares wouldn’t even dare to cross my mind - as I did yesterday. I can still feel his warm touch and the way he had snuggled up next to me as I drifted off to sleep. It just felt…it felt so right. Like it was supposed to happen.

 

Okay, let’s calm down here. I sound like a lunatic. “Like it was supposed to happen?” That’s entirely and altogether just complete insanity. Cuddling with your best friend and band mate should not feel “right”. I don’t even like guys – let alone should I like him! I’m most certainly attracted to the opposite gender; girls are fantastic! But it’s these maddening feelings that I get when I’m around him; the ones that stir up emotional imbalances inside my heart. There’s just something about Louis that makes my stomach turn upside down; something I haven’t realized until now.

 

“Earth to Harry...” Niall waves his hand in front of my face, breaking my train of thought as he stares at me in concern.

 

“We’re leaving now; Paul’s calling us,” Liam explains, searching my expression in the same confused way Niall was.

 

“Are you okay mate? You blanked out for quite a bit…” Zayn asks his face also etched with bewilderment.

 

I stare back at all three of them, my mind blank.

 

“Louis!” Niall yells over his shoulder at the lad emerging from the men’s room “Come fix Harry – he’s broken!”

 

Louis frowns, one eyebrow cocked upwards in disbelief. He walks towards us, his Toms scuffing across the tiled floor of the sandwich shop.

 

“And how might that be?” he questions the lads, peering over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of me.

 

Louis’ blue eyes are twinkling in amusement, the skin at the corners crinkling. He stops at me and bends down to peer closer into my eyes. I almost gasp at the striking colour of his orbs, their shade of light blue astonishingly compelling. The dark smoky blue of the outer iris fades to a sparkling pale blue around the pupil, enrapturing me.

 

I freeze, as he moves even closer to the point where our noses are brushing. My heart rate kicks up and my cheeks flush with colour. Warning alarms are set off in my mind - cautioning me to move away – as we’re dangerously close. My skin tingles where his hits mine, sending shivers traveling down my body. Our foreheads almost touching, I stare back at him, noticing the cheeky twinkle present in his eyes. I bite my lip to hide my smile, fully aware of what he’s planning.

 

Louis stealthily reaches behind me and carefully picks up my half-eaten sandwich, ready to smash it into me. As his arm deftly moves towards my face, I pull my hand upwards and block my lunch from hitting me. The club sandwich explodes, its contents flying everywhere, as it smacks Louis right in the center of his face.

 

I burst out laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

LOUIS’ P.O.V

The sandwich smashes into my face, spraying its contents all down my striped t-shirt like someone had upchucked BLT. I squint and protect my eyes as tomato splatters liquid as he shoves his half-eaten lunch harder into my frowning expression.

 

Great, just great. I can hear the lads chuckling, Harry’s most prominent among the laughter. The smell of mayonnaise drifts up from the half-eaten sandwich that had clung onto the fabric of my shirt, making my nostrils twitch at the strong scent. Wiping my nose, I dislodge pieces of lettuce scattered on my face; all the while glaring at the snickering boy with curly hair.

 

His striking green eyes are scrunched up in amusement, shining with a slight coat of moisture from his laughing fit. Up close, those eyes were mesmerizing. They had held me in some sort of tranquil state, slowing down the rush of my life that buzzed around me for once. It was almost like he had hypnotized me with those shimmering emerald orbs. Okay, hold on a second. I was getting stunned by my best mate’s eyes. That’s just bizarre, not to mention extremely creepy. I mean, they were kind of beautiful, being that marvelous green colour and all…what am I even thinking?

 

“Snap out of it Louis!” I scold myself, murmuring underneath my breath. My hand twitched, ready to slap my face if needed.

 

Silence fills the restaurant, replacing the giggling that was taking place just moments before. The only sounds were the occasional clink of utensils against plates and the hushed conversation of the older couple hunched over in the back corner. I look up from the mess on my top, meeting the gaze of the lads. Scanning my eyes over their barely contained poker faces, I cock a brow upwards disbelievingly.

 

“Really Harry, really?” I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at the curly haired boy accusingly.

 

“Really Louis, really?” He mocks my annoyed tone, a smirk planted firmly on his smug face.

 

I roll my eyes and wipe the remains of his lunch off of me and reach for a napkin placed on the table to the left. I clean my hands, removing the leftover mayo from my sticky hands.

 

“I believe it was your intention to squish the sandwich into my face first,” Harry accuses, looking from left to right at the other lads as if to get their opinion. Niall and Zayn nod while Liam gives me a half-hearted shrug in apology.

 

“A lot of tossers you are,” I mutter bitterly and narrow my eyes at the sheepish boys standing before me. This was extremely unfair! If Harry didn’t have to come so close to me with his unnaturally stunning eyes, I wouldn’t be in this situation. A pit forms in my stomach as I think back to the position we were in, our noses brushing against one another’s as my heart beat wildly out of control. Curse these maddening feelings too. All these thoughts of Harry’s eyes being beautiful or wanting to run my hands through his curly hair were driving me insane. They were wrong, all wrong. I only get those kind of nervous butterflies around girls. And I’m most certainly not gay. I’ve never even considered that question, let alone thought it. For Christ’s sake – I have a girlfriend!

 

Resurfacing from my thoughts, I glance back at Harry’s still smirking face and scowl back at him. I open my mouth to retort something - to make a smart comment - but a brunette steps in between us, interrupting our view of each other.

 

“Hey there, I noticed you had a bit of an accident?” she flashes me a grin and giggles in a high pitched tone, tossing her pin straight brown hair over her shoulder in a flirtatious way.

 

I smile back at her, giving her a quick once-over. Her waitress uniform consisted of a pink blouse buttoned too low and rather short skirt that left barely anything to imagination. She had tons of makeup on, the black eyeliner swallowing up her eyes and foundation smeared over the freckles that were prominent on her face in a haphazard manner to cover them up. Other than the obvious try too hard look, she could be attractive with proper clothes and no makeup, as her eyes were a gorgeous golden honey colour and her face was delicate and generally pretty.

 

“Uh, yep…sorry about that,” I apologize and glance down at my Toms’ covered feet in embarrassment.

 

“Oh it’s no problem!” she places a hand on my shoulder reassuringly and bats her thick eyelashes at me.

 

I almost roll my eyes from her obvious attempts to flirt with me. She swoops forward towards my face but tips her head slightly to the side to reach my ear. Whispering in a husky voice that did not turn me on whatsoever, her hot breath warms the tips of my ear.

 

“We wouldn’t want someone like you to worry about anything,” she giggles once again, her fake voice piercing my eardrums.

 

“Uh…” I stammer, my breath caught in my throat “Um, if we have to pay for any damage or whatever that’s fine – don’t hold back,”

 

She rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her see-through shirt and beams at me.

 

“Oh, I won’t hold back at all,” she emphasizes the words, turning their meaning into a different one.

 

My face floods with colour, the back of my neck burning with heat. Her outrageous flirting was extremely embarrassing. Did she not know that the lads were stood right beside me? Not to mention the other people trying to enjoy their lunch, her attempts to turn me on were not the most suitable for the environment. For all I knew, paparazzi could be eating here and could snipe a picture of her and I. Management would not be pleased if rumors spread about me seeing another girl – as my relationship with Eleanor was on the rocks enough as it was.

 

“Um, thanks?” I say more like a question and turn to Niall “Could I borrow your charger for my I-phone, I have to text Eleanor about tomorrow night,”

 

Niall tilts his blond haired head ever so slightly to the side in confusion, but goes along with my lie, obviously understanding my dilemma.

 

“Sure thing mate,” he grins and clasps a hand on my shoulder in support. I glance over at him and shoot him a quick smile in thanks.

 

The girl, whose nametag reads Justine, huffs loudly and glowers at me.

 

“Actually, there’s this policy about throwing food in the restaurant, so um…you’re going to have to pay a fee,” Justine tells us with a distinct edge to her voice, certainly picking up on my relationship status.

 

“No problem,” Liam steps in, trying to ease the tension that’s arisen in the room “Just write up a cheque up for us?”

 

“Sure,” Justine agrees with a dull tone and saunters off towards the kitchen, her hair swishing back and forth.

 

Tearing my gaze away from her, I refocus my attention on the lads. Niall and Liam are chatting quietly amongst themselves and I catch small glimpses of their hushed conversation. It appears they’re talking about upcoming events; something to do with our shows and such. From what I’ve caught, Niall’s complaining about the lack of Nando’s around. Chuckling silently to myself, I run my eyes over the other boys. Zayn’s pulled his phone out from his back pocket and is contently typing away on the screen, a satisfied smile plastered on his face. From his happy expression, I assume him and Perrie are texting. After the whole drama about their apparent separation and how Zayn had deactivated his twitter to get away from the rumors, they seemed to be as inseparable as ever. Well, at least talking on their phones to each other. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time in our hectic schedule for us to see our girlfriends in person.

 

Finally my gaze shifts to rest on a certain curly haired lad who’s also looking at me, his eyebrows raised pointedly at the sandwich resting on the table beside me. I fix my face to mirror his expression and shrug. “What?”

 

“It was completely your fault you know,”

 

“Was not!” I exclaim and pretend glare at him, crossing my arms in a huff.

 

“Was too!” he chuckles and smiles at me, the corners of his mouth curling upwards smugly.

 

“My hand was slipping Harry,” I lie rather unconvincingly, a grin creeping onto my face “Just like it is right now,”

 

“Huh?”

 

He doesn’t see the massive sundae flying towards him before it’s too late. Ice cream collides with his horror-stricken face as he realizes what’s happening. I had sneakily snatched the leftover dessert from the table that I got the napkin from without anyone noticing. Can you say revenge? The strawberry and chocolate sauces pours down his cheeks in pink and brown rivulets, resembling colourful tears.

 

Laughter bubbles up in my throat and almost escapes my lips, but I press them firmly together to cease any noise. Harry glares, wiping his ice cream coated curls back.

 

“You’re dead meat,” he growls, his green eyes now a darkened hazel.

 

“Did you not enjoy your dessert Harry?” I giggle like a school girl as I glance at his face streaked with pink and brown stripes. He looks daggers at me in response, answering my rhetorical question.

 

My laughter slows and my smile falls from my face as I observe his expression. My stomach sinks; he looks extremely cross. The way his deep voice rumbles on the word dead and the red tinge to his cheeks that was not from the syrup, give away his emotions. This was far from being a happy ending for me. I gulp nervously and rub the stubble growing on my jaw line.

 

“It was a joke Harry – ever heard of revenge?” I crack a small grin, my lips turning slightly upwards. But Harry’s mouth remains set in a straight line, his eyes narrowing even more. You did not want to get Harry angry. He has the worst temper out of all of us – he could do some serious damage if he got riled up. And from the looks of it, I was dead meat – just like he had said. As he takes a step towards me, the anger radiating off of him in waves, Liam notices the tension between us.

 

“Hey, hey, there’s no need to beat each other up; Harry, calm down!” Liam says in a worried tone, the lines on his forehead creasing in confusion. He places a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder and looks back and forth between the two of us. I can imagine what he sees; Harry coated with sundae and pissed off, while I’m sheepishly standing a couple of feet away with a guilty expression plastered on my face.

 

“What’s wro-” Liam starts, but is cut off by Paul’s head poking through the front doors of the restaurant.

 

“Boys! Let’s go!” he stage whispers, his shout hushed. Following his announcement, we race out the doors in a flurry – Liam barely managing to grab the cheque – as we literally fly out of the building. My TOMS clad feet slap the pavement noisily as we reach the van. The lads and I begin to pile into the automobile, Paul yelling at us to hurry up. But before Harry can follow the rest of the boys, I place a restraining hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

 

“What?” he snaps, turning around to face me. When he recognizes who’s holding him back, he immediately whips his head back around.

 

“No, Harry! I’m…I’m sorry!” I plead, guilt overwhelming me. I tug on his knit-sweater’s sleeve, begging him once more to look at me.

 

“You know what Louis?” he spits through his clenched teeth and rotates his body to face mine. I blink, trying to read his vacant expression. “You can shut the fuck up,”

 

And with those six words, my face crumples like a paper bag, lines creasing from hurt and bewilderment. My knees weaken, buckling with the sudden fatigue that washes over me and my eyes water as my lip trembles. It felt like I had been struck in the face, the stinging sensation from his harsh words biting through my skin. Harry and I joke around all the time – pulling constant pranks on one another – so why should this time be any different?

 

“LOUIS! Get a move on mate!” Paul hollers from inside the van and honks the horn repeatedly.

 

But I stand stock-still, Harry’s words repeating over and over again in a loop inside my head.


	8. Chapter 8

HARRY'S P.O.V

Tossing the thick duvet off me once again, I roll over onto my stomach and let out a exasperated groan. Propping my head up with my hand I glance over at my bedside clock that reads 2:00 A.M. Well I wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon. I run my hands through my thick mass of tangled curls and pull them forcefully, taking my anger out on the brown ringlets. I inhale loudly, trying to clear all negative thoughts from my mind. Closing my eyes in mock tiredness, I exhale and refuse to let my brain take me to the event that has caused all this stress. I repeat the deep breathing process a couple more times before my consciousness begins to slip. I sigh and snuggle further into the feather pillow, relieving the weight of my head into the comfort it provides. I wonder if I'll have anymore nightmares about Louis tonight; maybe the pillow will help? 

Louis. 

The resentment towards myself fills my entire body with the thought of his name, making it fizz with frustration. Tossing violently to the side, I gather my body up underneath me and step down from the hotel's bed. I pull on my plaid boxers and shove a hand into my thick hair absentmindedly. It was simply no use for me to continue to try and force myself to sleep, when it obviously wasn't working. Dragging my feet on the scratchy surface of the room's dated carpet, I walk silently over to my suitcase for some clothes. I toss aside the dirtied underwear from a week ago across the room and reach for the simple white t-shirt that's folded haphazardly among the other rumpled articles of clothing. I pull the soft fabric over my head after giving it a quick whiff as a freshness test. A pair of yesterday's jeans and a quick swipe of deodorant later, I'm heading out the door with nothing but a my phone and a crumpled $10 bill in my back pocket. 

I close the door shut with a quiet click and stride down the corridor feeling a little lighter. I press the button to activate the lift and lean against the hallway as I await its arrival. Tiredly glancing around the hall, I pull out my phone - a force of habit - and unlock it. I press on the Twitter application and scroll carelessly through my mentions, replying to a couple from the fans - answering a couple questions and such. My lips curve upwards into a smile as I think about how I just made someone's day. I still couldn't get over the fact that people considered me as a celebrity and would "die" if I responded to their tweets; I'm still yet to get used to this life that's presented itself to me. 

The elevator dings and my gaze shifts to the now open glistening metal doors. Striding into the lift before it closes, I shove my phone hastily back into my back pocket. I press the Ground Level button and sigh as I catch my reflection in the elevator's mirrors. My hair is extremely disheveled - more so than it usually is - and there's puffy dark purple bags underneath my bloodshot eyes. My skin is ashen and pale, differing from the usual slight tint of red that makes its way onto my cheeks everyday. On top of that all, I'm practically dying for a hot cup of tea. My hands shoot to my back pocket and finger the bill thoughtfully. Pulling out my phone once again, I open up google maps.

15 minutes later, I'm thoroughly confused yet I somehow made it to a quaint coffee house that's buried in the maze of roads that is New York. I palm the sides of the warm tea cup carefully as I make my way across the tiny shop to sit in the back corner. Sliding into a wicker seat across from an identical empty one, I study the room discreetly. There's barely anyone here - as it's 2:30 in the morning! The only three people occupying the shop include the teenage cashier who looks like he's bored out of his mind, me, and an elderly lady who's furiously scribbling something onto a sheet of lined paper. The way she's so absorbed in whatever she's writing is almost fascinating; it makes me wonder what on earth it must be about to cause that amount of dedication. I mean, shouldn't people be resting by now? But then again, New York is the city that never sleeps. 

My eyes trail down the intricate blue and white patterns of my tea cup and then follow the wisp of steam that rises from the heavenly liquid. I take a small sip only to discover that I had forgotten to add sugar to it in my sleepy haze. Standing up and gently pushing the chair back with a muffled squeak, I make my way over to the shelves containing antique mason jars labeled with names like "Pooh's Honey Jar" and "Tooth Rotter". I pull the sugar cube container off of the aged wood and open it, grasping a small brown cube in my hand. I return the jar back to it's original spot and turn around to walk back to my table when I see him.

He's hunched over in the corner opposite to mine, his head placed firmly on the table with his messy chocolate brown fringe all over the place. The soft sobs that escape his mouth covered by his arms are gut wrenching and heart breaking to listen to. Guilt stabs me in the chest and I instinctively take a step towards him. I stop myself before I can walk any further and take a second to think. What would I even say, considering the fact that he's completely upset about my harsh words? He wouldn't even accept my apology. It wasn't my fault that the slutty waitress was all over him! I couldn't stand her pathetic attempts to flirt with him as he's already taken...by Eleanor. I try to ignore the weird burning feeling in my stomach whenever I hear her name; it's completely irrelevant to the situation I'm in...right? I think I definitely need to get some more sleep. 

The depressing cries pierce through the quiet hum of the shop, jerking me out of my thoughts. Although Louis' most commonly dubbed with the title of " the prankster" he's quite sensitive underneath his bubbly exterior. And when someone says something that really upsets him, then it takes him a while to forgive and forget. Sure he'll understand when I've taken our messing around with one another too far or when one of the lads picks a small fight whether or not we're watching Friends that night, but if you were to insult him and actually mean it...well that's a different story.

I gulp nervously and push my curls off of my forehead in anxiousness. I walk over to his table with my head bowed in sheepishness, my shoes scuffing the rough and uneven wooden planks of the coffee shop's floors. 

"Louis?" I say and tap his shoulder lightly, but it comes out more like a question.

The crying instantaneously ceases and his body stiffens where my hand rests. I withdraw my finger from him and take a step back cautiously. His face whips around to face me, the dark brown eyes and enlarged hawk nose most certainly not belonging to Louis.

I flush with embarrassment, the back of my neck reddening. "Uh-um, sorry...s-sir! Wrong, uh, person." I awkwardly move away from him as his glare threatens to burn through my thin t-shirt. I bump into a couple of chairs and tables along the way, still feeling his eyes like stones transfixed on me. 

I collapse in defeat in the wicker chair and cup my tea once again in my hands, bringing the sweet liquid to my lips. Placing the mug down, I run my trembling hands over my face in a desperate attempt to try and compose myself. How mortifying. Sighing, I shut my eyes in hope that I'd see something better in my mind instead of the situation that's infront of me. Inhaling and exhaling deeply in a steady pattern, my head lowers itself onto the worn maple table, my curls brushing the edge. With my eyes firmly shut, closing off the life around me, I begin to drift off...

~~~~~

A boy is drawing something in the sand with one of the discarded branches scattered among the beach's perimeter, his face lined with tears of heartache. Scratching the surface of the dampend pale dirt, he scrawls a message that only he can read. The waves roll smoothly up towards his toes, erasing the sentence he had just written. Growling with frustration, he squats down to repeat his process of furiously scribbling the three words. The wind whips his hair back, pulling it out of its regular gelled fringe and it tangles with the salty sea breeze. Yet he doesn't care as he's completely consumed with his writing. Even as the storm clouds loom in the distance and the soft warning growls of thunder echo across the coastline, he fails to look up from his work. And because of this, he doesn't see the boy - the love of his life - standing right infront of him.

 

~~~

 

Hours before the boy journeyed to the seascape, he was sitting in a plush leather armchair, curled up underneath a cable knit blanket with a mug of steaming tea warming his shivering body. Sipping it casually, he eyes the boy opposite to him lounging on the burgundy loveseat. The other boy's brow is furrowed in annoyance, his chocolate brown curls cascading down the lines on his forehead. He massages his temples in concentration as he ponders over something. Running his pale hands up and down his face in frustration, he sighs.

 

"LouisIcan'tdothisanymore," the other boy blurts out in a rush, his words all jumbled together. He sneaks a glance at the boy's reaction, his emerald eyes pleading with the boy's own.

 

The boy's mouth drops open, mirroring the emotions rippling through his body as he's struck still from shock.

 

"I..I just can't. It's not...not possible anymore. Louis. Listen to me when I say that I'm still in love with you, but I simply can't deal with the craziness of this...this loving you. I mean, there's just too much pressure from the people that can't understand why we want to be together. I know I made a promise that we'd deal with it, but you know me Louis. I'm awful with promises. And I've already broken too many that deal with you. I just...I...I can't do it. I don't want to be the reason of your misery or the source of your unhappiness. You deserve to live life to its fullest. And that means it has to be without me. I know I will continue to break your promises if I stay...and I don't want to be that person anymore - so I'm leaving. Please...please just understand Louis? I love you," The tears overflow from Louis' eyes and spill down his cheeks.

 

"But...Harry," Louis croaks in protest, his arm stretching out to clasp his hand on Harry's shoulder. 

"No Louis."

"I wasn't...I'm not...not enough for you?"

"No..." Harry trails off, his eyes gazing downwards towards his converse clad feet "It's not like that,"

"I get it," Louis says nonchalantly, scrunching up his eyes to prevent the flow of the tears.

"You...you do?!" Harry exclaims in a tone of shock mixed with a hint of excitement.

Louis lets out a long bitter laugh in response, throwing his head back manically as the acrid sound echoes around the room.

"Are you fucking insane? No, don't even start," Louis holds up a hand as Harry's mouth opens to protest. "You're trying to logically explain to me why you sprouted a whole pile of bullshit about loving me and then go even further to stab me in the back and say that you're leaving me?! Your conscience is pretty screwed up Harry. Does it sound coherent when you try and convince me that you can't deal with them?! Fuck haters Harry; you even said it yourself. The single bit of truth that has ever come out of that fat mouth of yours is when you said that you're the source of my unhappiness. You hit the nail on the head with that one. And you know what? Since you've already taken every part of me emotionally - why don't you just go ahead and steal everything I have. Feel free to take the fucking house, my fucking car, my fucking job, my fucking life. Feel fucking free Harry! Oh no, are you guilty? Don't worry; it's okay! The consequences won't matter to me...they never will. I'm sorry I even bothered to be apart of your life Harry. I'm sorry I caused you all this trouble. I'm sorry that I'm undoubtfully and unconditionally in love with you. I'm fucking sorry...okay?!"

"Louis..." Harry cries but is silenced by the slamming of Louis' angry lips against his own. He melts into the kiss and reaches up to intertwine his fingers in the fringe of Louis' hair as he's done so often before. The kiss is full of passion, remorse and longing; the bittersweetness of it ironically painful. When they finally break apart, gasping for air and shocked at one another, Louis makes up his mind.

"Good-bye Harry. Have a good life without me - I know it's what you want."

And with that, he turns and walks out the door, leaving all his possessions and the love of his life behind.

 

~~~

 

"I love you," the message reads, the font a handwritten scrawl with loopy letters that could only belong to Louis. What seems to be written below as an afterthought - to address the person it's aimed towards - is the single name that will forever send chills up Louis' spine and awaken the part of his heart that is open to love; the person that's reading the writing in the sand right now. 

Harry.

 

~~~

 

*STILL HARRY'S P.O.V*   
"Sir...sir, please wake up...it's past closing time," a unknown voice urges me with a slight push on my t-shirt covered shoulder.

I stir from my nightmare-filled slumber as my eyes flutter open to view the cashier standing over me with an annoyed expression on his frowning face. He rolls his hazel eyes in disgust at my disgruntled appearance and sighs. 

"Can you leave? I'd like to get home now,"

I manage to grunt a small apology and lift my head off of the wooden maple table of the coffee house that I had fallen asleep in last night. Wait...that was last night. The lads and I were supposed to have an interview this morning before doing a whole bunch of promotional activities after our scheduled lunch at 21 Club! I yank my phone out of my back pocket in a frantic motion and check the time. 7 am. Shoving whatever change I have leftover on the table from the $10 bill after I spent it on the tea, I murmur another quick apology to the exhausted looking cashier and scramble out of the coffee house into the broad daylight of NYC. I'm immediately illuminated by the burning flashes from the cluster of paparazzi's cameras. Taperecorders and microphones are shoved in my face and questions are shouted out among the crowd of gathering people. On top of that all, I'm being filmed, with ten various clunky and expensive-looking video cameras expertly trained on my face. 

"Harry! Harry! Over here!" one voice shouts above the noise of the swarm of fans and news reporters.

"We love you Harry!!" another pipes in. 

"Why are you up so early?"

"What are you doing?"

"Harry! Look at us!" 

"Where's the rest of the boys?" 

"Smile for us Harry, please?"

"Can we get an interview?" 

"How come you're alone?" 

"Over here Harry! Look at the sign we made!" 

I resist the urge to cover my ears from all the noise and instead plaster my signature Harry Styles smirk on my face. I glance towards the two screeching girls holding up a neon poster board covered with my name and glittery hearts. When I give them a thumbs-up approval for their sign, they squeal with delight and clutch each other's arms in pure joy. Still smiling, I stealthily slip my hand into my back pocket and hit speed dial 5 on my I-phone for Paul. The phone vibrates twice gently against the back of my thigh as it rings and I begin to scan the crowd for one of our bodyguards. 

 

LOUIS' P.O.V 

"Fu-frick!" Paul swears underneath his breath as he taps furiously on his phone's screen with his right hand and fiddles with his earpiece with his other hand. "Can't you kids stay in one place?! Did anyone know where Harry went last night? You know how many rumours and...."

Paul's rant fades into the background as I seem to be hypnotized by that name. Harry. I had tried to avoid thinking about him since the incident at the restaurant, but of course, had failed miserably without any hope whatsoever. I still couldn't believe that he had gotten that infuriated with my behaviour. As the prankster and joker of the group, I was quite mischievous and poked fun at the other lads whenever I got the chance; it wasn't unusual for them to get "annoyed" with me. But the fact that Harry was seriously pissed off scared me. Once in a blue moon would he get cross with one of the boys, but never with me. Never. And that terrified me even more. 

My thoughts are interrupted by the real Harry barreling through the glass doors of the front entrance and sprinting towards where I'm standing in the hidden side hall. Flinging open the doors with a force that I can feel their wind from halfway down the corridor, he dashes into the narrow hallway. Gasping for breath, he leans against the painted exterior of the wall for support. He remains that way for a couple of minutes, until his breathing slows down to a regulated rate, while I just stand their gawking at him. His top - or what's left of it - is completely shredded and torn to bits, his forehead is glistening with perspiration and his wild curls are strangely entrancing with their bed-head appeal. I'm guessing either he's having a really bad hair day, or he had a run-in with fans. I chuckle softly to myself as I notice the smears of glitter splattered on his arms and cheeks. 

He looks up, startled to find that someone else is in the corridor with him and that he's not alone - but yet stuck in here with me until Paul and the other bodyguards clear massive swarm of fans out of the hotel. 

"The glitter adds a nice touch," I'm the first to break the awkward tension that had quickly seeped its way into the room. 

"Huh?" he asks me with a confused look on his face.

"The glitter, on your arms...it looks nice," 

He glances down at his sparkling arms and lets out a short but sweet laugh. Looking back up to meet my gaze, his vibrant emerald eyes are shining despite the prominent bruise coloured bags underneath them. 

"Listen...um," I cough nervously "I'm sorry about yesterday...I shouldn't of pushed the prank that far. It was rather immature of me," 

Harry gives me a weird look like I'm not in on a joke or something. 

"What?" I ask, throughly confused with him.

Harry just laughs, tossing back his curls as the giggles overflow from his lips. 

"Wha-at?!" I demand again, my tone taking a whiny pitch. He continues to chuckle and shake his head back and forth in a "no" motion.

I step towards him in a playful threatening way, "I swear Styles, if it's another one of these little games you play with me I-" 

"No, that's not it. Oh Louis. You just don't get it do you?" he says, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking me dead in the eye.

I gulp, afraid that he's going to snap. Never trust a Harry functioning on no sleep. "Get what? What is it?"

"You don't understand that you're apologizing for a mistake of mine!" he breaks off into another fit of laughter and slaps his hand on my shoulder.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I seriously had thought that he was still ticked off at me for the ice cream incident. 

"You're wonderful you know?" Harry says, smiling dangerously with an unreadable expression crossing his features.

"I am?" I ask doubtfully and lock eyes with him. Regularly, I could read just about every emotion that made it's way onto Harry's face - from confused to upset to exhilarated - but this one, this almost void expression, baffled me every single time.

He leans slightly closer to me, and my heart rate kicks up a couple notches as his breath tickles the stubble on my chin. His eyes are intoxicating, the brilliant colour of them trapping me in their boldness. I'm so transfixed by his eyes that I don't notice how alarmingly close he's getting to me. His nose gently brushes against mine in an eskimo kiss fashion, our noses bumping together softly. I breath in his sweet musky Blue de Chanel colonge and the rousing fresh scent that he always seems to have. I want to pull back because it all seems to be advancing too fast, it's too wrong, but yet I'm held firmly in place by a gravity that's unknown; a force that makes me want to lean forward and kiss those full lips. Kiss...him? Louis what are you doing?! This is your best mate you're thinking about! But yet I lean even closer, grabbing his face instinctively inbetween my palms. He reacts by wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tighter to him than I thought possible. His hot breath cascades down my neck, making shivers run down my spine. I'm waiting for a sign, some kind of signal to tell me that this is wrong, that we shouldn't be doing this, but it never comes. Instead, I rest my chin in the crook of Harry's shoulder and sigh in delight as he begins to massage my sore shoulders.

"You're really stiff Louis, maybe I could loosen you up huh?" he chuckles and I join in at his awful dirty pun.

I soften as his fingers work their magic on my tight muscles and exhale in relaxation. Wrapping my arms around his core in a hug, I tilt my head sideways to glance up at him. 

"Thanks Haz," I smile, the corners of my mouth tugging upwards happily. He grins in return, dimples popping and leans in closer towards my face. 

"No problem Boo," he breathes out, and presses his forehead to mine, this time cupping my chin in his hands. "You have wonderful eyes...so blue," he looks deeper into my eyes, literally staring right into my soul. I return the favour, taking in the striking green that seems to sparkle. I don't know who moves first, but all of a sudden our lips are one small maneuver away from pressing against each other's. His eyes flutter shut, but mine stay open, as I'm still in shock. I suck in a breath as he angles his face every so slightly to the side and begins to... 

"Louis? Harry?! What's going on?"


	9. Chapter 9

HARRY'S P.O.V 

"Louis? Harry?! What's going on?"

We spring apart from our extremely close proximity to each other as if an electric shock has run through both of our bodies. My face floods with red and my limbs untangle themselves from the intricate mess of our embrace. I shuffle awkwardly away from Louis, my heart galloping at a feverish pace. He casually leans against the wall that I had just pushed him against in avidity seconds ago and sighs as if such events never took place. I shove a hand into my thick curls as the door to the secret corridor swings open, revealing a confused looking Niall holding a half eaten cookie. Crumbs fall down onto the patterned carpet below from his slowly chewing lips and his eyebrows are raised in a mixture of perplexity and anticipation. His eyes flick back and forth between me standing timidly on one side with my cheeks flushed in exertion, to Louis panting against the wall on the other, making the connection to the obvious answer that hangs in the air unspoken. I break out in a nervous sweat from his piercing blue eyes boring into the side of my head, as I'm refusing to look anywhere but at him. My mouth is exceptionally dry and I feel as if I haven't dranken in days. I draw in a shaky breath and pull my gaze slightly upwards from its resting point trained on my converse. 

Just as I'm opening my mouth to explain, to conjure up some kind of bizarre explanation or excuse as to why the situation looks the way it does, my words fall short from the beaming smile that's planted itself on Niall's face. I sneak a glance at Louis' blase expression, but I see right through his cool-as-ice demeanor. From the way his pupils dilate when Niall's lips turn upwards and the slight twitch of a muscle in his cheek as he continues to smile, give away his true emotions. I focus on Niall now, taking in the joy that threatens to burst through his very seams. His mouth creates a large "O" of excitement and it pulls open and closed like a goldfish chewing. 

"Niall, just spit it out already lad!" Louis blurts out in exasperation, breaking the tense excitement that crowds the small hallway. 

"They were...they were right?" Niall asks in a confused daze, his eyes sparkling. 

"Well, um..." I push a few stray curls out of my eyes "Uh...yeah? I suppose so?" I squint at the ground in an attempt to divert any more of the awkwardness that's rippling through my emotions like a wave. 

"Oh my...these fans, these...these fans never lie, do they?" 

Louis bows his head, mimicking mine. "No Niall, I don't believe they often try to lie to us..." Louis explains, his voice resembling one of humbleness and apologetic tones. 

Niall shuts his eyes in content, his fluttering lids covering the sky blue orbs that shine with exuberance. His lips move slightly as if he's muttering another language to himself, foreign to everyone else but himself. Muffled sounds escape his mouth and sound as hushed tones, their meaning to quiet for me to understand. I take a step forward, the lines scrunching up on my forehead in confusion. 

"Come again?" 

Niall's eyes open once again and immediately lock with mine in an disoriented gaze. 

"Niall. I didn't understand. What were you just saying?" I ask nervously again for clarity, worried that he would suddenly explode with fury. After all, what Louis and I had just experienced was an event of...well, homosexuality. Although we didn't do anything to prove a valid statement, the way that my heart beat wildly like a horse galloping at a furious pace when he was close to me said something completely different. And I was deathly afraid, terrified even, that Niall would jump to conclusions and disapprove of what we might of done, given the chance to be alone for a second longer. I was worried that he wouldn't accept us anymore - for what looked like happened. 

Niall just stares back blankly at me, his eyebrows almost pushed into a dumbfounded expression. Instead of responding to my question, he simply raises his jumper clad arm and points to something down the hall. 

"Yes Niall," I say sarcastically "A corridor with a dead end. Ever fascinating." 

"No! Look!" He urges me, jabbing his finger in guidance again. 

I twist around to face the bleak caramel walls of the hotel and the scruffy carpeted flooring that had bizarre patterns engraved into its design, nothing in particular capturing my attention like the way it had grabbed Niall's. I sigh and turn back around to face his eager expression. 

"Niall there's noth-" I'm cut off by the obnoxious clattering of metal reverberating in the quaint corridor, the loud echoes causing my ears to ache. "What the..." I wince and cradle my head in both hands, while turning to face the source of the commotion. 

An overly cheerful lady is bustling through a side door adjacent to the end of the hallway, her large figure barely squeezing through the opening. She has curly hair like mine, apart from the fact that it's thin, blond and tamed down from what I infer to be about an entire bottle of hairspray. My nose wrinkles as it catches the aerosol can scent that wafts down the corridor as she approaches us. Infront of her is the cause of all the racket, a massive silver-grey hunk of metal cart carrying sparkling room service dish covers and what I presume to be food underneath, considering the way Niall was reacting. 

Louis and I look at each other and breathe a collective sigh of relief. The nerves that had been bouncing around my stomach like a birthday party of kids on a trampoline calmed down and I could finally relax. 

"Good morning mysterious three young men, I'm Anette and I've come to bring this load of food to someone by the name of..." she glances down at a piece of rumpled paper in her chunky hands "Neil, N...Nail Horain? Would you happen to know anyone named Nail Horain?" 

Once again, Louis and I meet each other's eyes at the same time and try not to laugh. His face is reddening, the flush travelling up from his neck and pinching his cheeks with colour and his mouth is curled upwards into an adorable, toothless grin. I cover my hands over my mouth and smother the laugh that threatens to escape my humored lips. Niall, noticing our muffled laughter, turns around and shoots us a glare. Louis reaches out and slaps Niall repeatedly on the shoulder, his giggles resounding throughout the corridor. 

"Yes...ah, Anette, this is the Nail Horain you're looking for," Louis pauses for breath, regaining control of his laughter for a bit, but fails seconds later and surrenders to the hysterical thought of Anette's voice as she said Nail Horain. Niall and I join in a couple moments later, my chuckles releasing the stress from minutes before. 

~~~~ 

LOUIS' P.O.V 

"Bye!" the lads and I chorus, before waving our good-byes to the camera sat infront of us. We had just finished our final interview of the day - which was a part of our promotional activities in New York. 

"And...that's a wrap boys!" the producer hollers and the room breaks into an excited chatter. Paul motions for us to get going, as our scheduled lunch at 21 Club is in 15 minutes and we need to arrive on time. Paul's all for being courteous and despises being late for anything - especially expensive restaurants that set up lunches for us. Knowing this, I pull myself up from the plush suede couch and lean on Zayn for support. Smiling, he rests his weight on me, pushing back with his shoulder. Zayn ruffles my fringe playfully and fingers the gelled strands, pulling them gently. He raises his eyebrows questioningly at my hair as if I was supposed to understand exactly what he wants to know. He tugs on my hair more forcefully this time and gives me a look. 

"What?!" I exclaim and remove his wandering hands from my hair in annoyance. Zayn chuckles and runs his hands through his own quiff, rearranging the blond highlights that add a pop of colour to his raven coloured hair. 

"The quiff movement is no more?" 

Confused for a second before I understood that he was referencing to the name of our hairstyle change that the fans had coined "The Quiff Movement", I stared blankly at him. My brain finally registering what he had just inquired, I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it.

"Did Eleanor not like the new style or something?" he asks tentatively, his eyes slightly squinting in preparation for my possible outburst. 

Eleanor. She and I had scheduled a lunch date today, in hopes that we could iron some kinks out of our relationship - as we hadn't seen each other for a while and the short disputes we were having over trust issues we'rent exactly helping our case. I was crossing my fingers that this would benefit our status with one another, as I don't want to lose her anymore than I already have. Suddenly remembering that Zayn was still patiently waiting for an answer, I refocused my gaze on him. 

"No...I don't know, I guess...it happened?" I let out a half-hearted laugh, my mind still mulling over the case with Eleanor. Paul calls for Zayn and I to get a move on, denying him any chance to respond to my lame excuse for my hair being disgruntled. I start to walk once again over to the door, only turning back to shout out a quick thank-you to the people involved with our latest interview. 

~~~~ 

The lads and I pile out of the van at the exclusive back entrance of Club 21, to avoid the massive crowd of fans buzzing around the restaurant's front area. It's not like any of the lads or I didn't want to greet the fans or sign any of their memorabilia to do with us, but we had a scheduled lunch to attend and the amount of them that had arrived at the restaurant posed quite a threat to our safety. As much as we love them, there are some real nutcases out there, and we don't know if they'd do something to hurt us or not. We stealthily sneak into the side door, the metal creaking open quietly as we make our way into Club 21. I'm enveloped in the soft light of the restaurant as I step inside, stunned by the completely different feel from what I had thought it would be; hence the name with "club" in it. Elegant yet modern, the different rooms of the place merge into one another, somehow coinciding with their various styles. To top it all off, I can barely hear - but still manage to recognize - the hushed melody of a classical song playing in the background. I try to catch Harry's eye, but he's too busy staring around the place in bewilderment like I suspect how I was doing a minute ago. 

We're met by a lanky Italian waiter, who introduces himself as Arturo and leads us down a back corridor, away from all the people eating their opulent meals. Still amazed at the refined class of the club, I continue to look around like a tourist viewing Big Ben for the first time. Arturo halts us at door somewhere down the winding hallways and fishes some keys out of his pockets. After fiddling around until he finds the appropriate key, he unlocks the grand oak door and opens it. The very sight of the room stuns me. Soft, warm light illuminates the polished maple table with precise edging and makes the silver plates and cutlery shine with lustre. The high back chairs are adorned with plush red velvet cushions that look so comfortable I'm contemplating whether or not to fall asleep in one, and the scent of fresh flowers invades my nose with a crisp, yet pleasant smell. Yet, my favourite part of the room has to be the racks of wine, rows and rows of them decorating the walls with their warm red liquid. Now, I'm not an alcoholic, but this room could turn anyone into one. 

"Euh...this is Mister Tomlinson's room?" Arturo reads off of a folded manila paper card, "Reserved for Mr. Tomlinson and Ms. Calder. The other men, follow me this way please." 

The smile that spreads itself across my face is one of delight, astounded at my good luck to have snagged the room. And from the jealous gazes cast my way from the other lads, I know I wasn't the only one hoping. As they walk away, I hear the boys - Niall in particular - mutter some rude words underneath their breath. 

"Why does he get that room?!" Niall whines to Liam, tugging on his shirtsleeve and looking up at him with a questioning look.

Liam laughs humorously and pats him kindly on the shoulder like a little kid. "Well Niall, given your Irish temperament when influenced by alcohol, I don't think they exactly trust you to be in there, especially after the time at..." I don't hear the rest of what Liam says, as the door is closed and they're lead further down the corridor by Arturo. But I'm assuming that Niall wasn't too pleased by his answer, as I know exactly what story Liam was reminding him of. Let's just say that Niall isn't the most...well, careful of all lads when he's had too much whisky. I chuckle quietly to myself as I reflect on the events of that night. 

"Sir, I have received word that Ms. Calder will be here in a few minutes, so if you'd like to sit down while you wait?" a younger looking waiter, with the gleaming gold nameplate that read Brandon, suggested while gesturing with his pale hand to the array of comfortable chairs. I nodded in response and sat at the middle part of the table, while sighing at the comfort that the cushions gave me. Maybe they'd help somehow unrealistically help with Eleanor and I's relationship struggles. I was really hoping that we could work something out...maybe. Honestly, at this point, it was more stress than relief she brought me these days and I can't lie and say that the possibility hadn't crossed my mind. But still, the obscure thought caught me off guard every time. Eleanor and I had been together for so long, been through so much, that the mere consideration of not seeing one another anymore was almost impossible. 

A gentle knock at the door brought Brandon back to life, straightening his body from the concave slouch he stood while readjusting the flowers. Turning the handle so the wide-set door opened, Brandon pulled until Eleanor was revealed. She looked beautiful. Stunning even. With her smooth, wavy chocolate hair falling in all the right places and her perfect conformation, Eleanor was anything but ugly. But the butterflies that would normally erupt with nervous pleasure in my stomach failed to make an appearance. I stood up, walking towards her automatically and she did the same, meeting me halfway. She cupped my chin in her delicate hands and brought her thin lips to mine. Smooth and soft, her mouth moved familiarly against my own, but there was no regular explosion of fireworks; not even a mere spark. It was like kissing your sister on the cheek. Passionless and frigid. When we pulled apart, my mouth curled into a half-hearted smile to respond to her large, toothy grin. 

"I've missed you Louis," she whispers and I draw her into a hug as she rests her head in the crook of my shoulder. 

"Missed you too," I murmur unconvincingly; at least to my own ears. 

I can feel her smile into my shirt and I bite my lip. I couldn't possibly break up with her. She was Eleanor; the only one who made me truly happy. But, I had to. It just wasn't what I wanted it to turn out like. This relationship, this supposed connection, was simply not there anymore. And that in itself, was why I must end things. It was official. I didn't love Eleanor. 

We pull out of our embrace, her familiar parfume tickling my nose with its sweet scent. My eyes water as I thought about how that was most likely our last hug. If I didn't snap myself out of this state soon, the deed would be done and we would be no more. But no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to find another solution. I squint my eyes, preventing the flow of water and sit down in my chair. Instead of crying, I reach across the table and envelop my hand in hers, playing with our fingers. Eleanor grins, flashing her perfectly straight white teeth at me. My lips pull upwards bittersweetly as I smile back and clench my other fist underneath the table. Eleanor explodes into conversation, completely disregarding the polite small talk and begins to furiously recall her adventures while I was away from England, pausing only to take occasional sips of her water when she ran out of breath. I would miss this. Miss her fearless confidence and sweet charm. Miss our crazy conversations late at night or early in the morning - depending where I was. Miss all the crazy times we had running through a park away from fans, the break of dawn mini golfing, the ice cream stops at night after particularly good dates, ringing up each other at the most random times to tell each other we loved and missed one another - all the fun events that we had endured together. I would miss the love we once had. 

Abruptly standing up, I drop her hand as the tears well up in my eyes. I couldn't look at her anymore. I couldn't do this to her. But I was. It was happening. 

"Louis? Louis sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asks, standing up as well. She places a hand lovingly on my cheek, which I gently remove. The confusion registers on her face, disorientating her features. "Louis...what's going on? Why are you being like this?" 

Through my watery eyes, I look up at her now concerned expression. 

"Louis! Goddamn it, what the hell's going on?!" Eleanor grabs my face in between her petite hands and shakes it back and forth. Sighing, I push all of my worries aside. It was for the better. 

"Eleanor..." I start, my voice breaking. 

"Yes Louis, what is it?" she's almost crying now, with desperation to understand why I'm being this robotic and cold to her. From her perspective, she's probably lost her mind trying to think of reasons why I'm not functioning. 

"I'm breaking up with you." 

~~~~ 

ZAYN'S P.O.V 

I'm in the middle of eating a spoonful of my curry when a blood-curling scream echoes down the hall. As our door is slightly ajar, I could tell that the awful sound was coming from somewhere near Louis and Eleanor's room. The lads and I glance at immediately each other before jumping up from our seats and running towards the cries of anger. 

~~~~ 

HARRY'S P.O.V 

As we push open the door to their room, the cringe-worthy sound of glass smashing on hardwood floor welcomes us. Surrounded by a pile of blood red liquid seeping from the scattered smashed wine bottles, sits Louis, cowering in terror at Eleanor. She's grabbed five large bottles of luxury shiraz in her hands and is throwing them across the room at the other wine racks and fracturing their bottles as well, pulverizing them with sheer force. Wine has spilt all over the once-white table cover and is splashing everywhere, staining anything it touches with the menacing maroon liquid. Her high pitched screams resound around the room, hurting my delicate ears. 

The lads don't hesitate and push past me standing stock still in the doorway, Liam and Niall restraining Eleanor from doing any further damage. Zayn grabs a indifferent Louis who refuses to do anything but stare at me blankly. I return the gaze, locking eyes with him. I try to understand why he's staring at me so intensely, why his expression is so emotionless and completely blase. Shouldn't he be crying, showing any sign of hurt or sadness? I'm glued in place by his eyes, even when Paul and extra security arrive to fix matters. I'm completely engrossed in him, in the blueness - that I've lost everyone and everything around me, and the only thing I can see are those blue eyes, staring back at me.


	10. Chapter 10

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

I am numb. I am completely unaware of my surroundings and the events taking placing in them. I can’t feel anything. It’s like the power of emotion has been ripped from me, leaving me anesthetized – entirely closed off from the world. The only thing that envelops me is silence. I sit, curled up protectively in a ball, barely being able to recognize that my arms are wrapped around my knees in a form of self-support. My eyes are open yet closed, the shapes of objects swirling around me in a daze. It’s like I’m looking through a thick piece of glass – everything is deformed and abnormal, stretched beyond its regular formation that I’m so familiar with. The corners of my vision are etched with white, which is slowly overpowering my sight with its blinding starkness. I’m having such an out-of-body experience, that I can’t tell whether or not I’m going to faint. The whiteness is suffocating me to the point where I can’t think anymore.

 

“Louis? Louis!”

 

Harry’s face is suddenly breaking through the nothingness, pressing into my perception. His face is lined with concerned wrinkles and complete worry, his expression one of anxiety. He takes my head in between his hands, gently shaking it to try and make me emerge from my state of emotionlessness.

 

“Louis snap out of it! You’re scaring me!” he snaps and moisture springs to his eyes, tears filling them.

 

I gaze into the depth of his vivid green eyes once more before my head rolls back and the white takes over.

~~~~ 

LIAM’S P.O.V

 

I run my hands over my short hair, squeezing the growing strands in exasperation. I walk up the steps into the hospital’s entrance, the lads following suit. The haunting sound of sirens echo in my ears, their high pitched wailing ringing over the clamorous NYC traffic. Unclenching my fists from my buzz cut, I glance over my shoulder at my best friends staggering behind me. The regular friendly excited chatter that normally occurred when we were going somewhere is forgotten and the expression on all their faces is the exact same; distraught and distressed. But the worst has to be Harry. He’s stricken with fear and absolutely petrified – to the point where his hands are shaking in terror.

 

My frown deepened in worry even further than I thought possible as I continued to look at the poor lad. Him and Louis were practically joined at the hip, as their relationship was tighter, closer and more intimate than any of their friendships with myself or the other lads. Over the years, Harry had developed quite a protective layer of skin that could camouflage his true emotions and conceal any unwanted sensitivity exceptionally well, when in the situation concerning the obnoxious media. But the lads and I could regularly read one another in remarkable detail - picking up on each other’s emotions - yet at this point, anyone could see that Harry was in a great deal of pain.

 

I sigh as we arrive at the front desk and lean my body against the counter. The receptionist, an older lady with horn-rimmed glasses dangling from a golden chain, glances up from her mass of papers scattered in her workspace. She looks at me expectantly, gesturing with her eyes for me to speak.

 

“Hi, we’re looking for Louis Tomlinson, member of One Direction?” I murmur in a hushed tone, careful not to draw much attention to the lads and I. We didn’t want to put much emphasis on the fact that we were famous, even more so that one of us was in the hospital.

 

Her once bored expression changes immediately to one of concern and she hastily types on her computer. Her fingers fly over the thick black keys and her eyes scan the screen in a rush.

 

“Ah, here he is. Louis was just admitted to the ICU for the treatment of chronic trauma and severe stress aftereffects. He’s on… floor 5, room 509.”

 

We nod in response and shout a few brief but appreciative thank you’s over our shoulders as we barrel towards the stairs, knowing the elevator would take too long for our amount of patience at the moment.

~~~~ 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

I wake up to a furious, pounding headache. The throbbing sensation feels as if someone is repeatedly hitting me over and over again with a mallet in the side of my head. I groan in pain, quickly discovering that my throat is sore as well – the golf-ball sized lump not improving the situation that I’m in. I exhale heavily, the air coming out with minor difficulties and creating a barely audible wheezing sound. On top of that all, the same mind-numbing feeling has refused to leave. Whenever I try to think of…her, the emotionless state reoccurs, and leaves me with the sensation of nothingness. It’s like my brain has permanently shoved all those memories into a folder and hidden them in the chaos that is my mind. My heart has sealed itself shut in its depression, not allowing me to feel.

 

A sudden murmuring of voices captures my attention and my eyes flutter open, removing the crust that’s formed on the lids. Niall and Liam are sitting in two chairs off to the side of a hospital room

 

“I’m worried Liam.”

 

“You’re not alone with that one Niall.”

 

“It’s just that…he’s not himself. It’s gotten to be really bad – what’re we going to do?”

 

“I don’t know. I honestly doubt that any of us are feeling that great either Niall…”

 

“Yeah, I know that, but Louis and him…I’m terrified that he’s going to end up doing something that he regrets. It’s getting to the point where it’s only a matter of time...”

 

I furrow my brow in confusion. What were Niall and Liam talking about? How was I involved? Most importantly, why were their voices filled with so much concern and fear?

 

“Who is going to regret doing what?” I pipe up, my vocal cords thick and scratchy, “And what am I doing in the hospital?”

 

Their heads whip around to face the sound of my hoarse voice, obviously alarmed. Liam’s eyes are widened in shock, as if I’d come back from the dead or something, but Niall looks pleasantly surprised and a wide grin stretches across his face.

 

“Louis!” Niall calls out fondly and makes his way over to my body lying carelessly in the uncomfortable hospital single bed. He rustles the paper-thin sheets as he leans over to envelop me in a skintight hug. His muscular arms squeeze me close to his plain white Jack Wills tee and end up wrapping rather uncomfortably around my neck.

 

“Ugh…Niall, ugh…um…Niall! I can’t…breathe!!” I choke out from my air-restricted lungs and attempt to pry his arms off my neck, but fail as my muscles shake with fatigue. It honestly feels like I haven’t moved in years – I’m practically an artifact with the way my bones creak as I attempt to use my arms.

 

Niall finally notices that I’m choking from his death grip on me and releases his constricting arms. “Sorry Louis,” he apologizes sheepishly, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “You’ve been in the hospital and it’s just been a long time since…well…you’ve been awake!”

 

“Niall!” Liam scolds, shooting the blond haired Irishman a glare and crosses his arms in his typical Payne fashion, “You weren’t supposed to tell him that yet! Not until all the lads are here!” Liam’s eyes are literally sending laser beams towards Niall, who’s now taken to cowering in the corner like a kicked puppy.

 

“Hey, hey, lighten up Liam,” I plead softly, “Whatever it is you need to tell me, I can wait until everyone else is here. Niall didn’t spoil the surprise party you were planning – it’s all good! That’s what the secret is right?” I smile cheekily at Liam as he rolls his eyes at me. “So where’s the cards and confetti? Is the cake being delivered? I’d think you, Mr. Organization, to be a little more prepared!” I gesture around the empty space expectantly, my eyes observing the quaint hospital room and its pale peach colour fake-disapprovingly. I clap my hands together rudely, “Chop, chop servants! Remember that I pay you once every February 30th!”

 

“Fuck off…Louis?! You’re awake!!” Zayn retorts as he enters the room, a surprised smile plastered on his face. 

 

He shuts the door behind him quietly and proceeds to stand in front of my pathetically small bed. I laugh out loud in delight as if I’m six again and grin back at him.

 

“So I see you’ve risen from the dead? Did these two tell you that-“ I don’t hear the rest, as Liam tackles Zayn from behind abruptly, covering his open mouth with his hands. Zayn yelps and bashes Liam on the shoulder with his fist. “What the hell?” Zayn exclaims in fury and confusion, the expression written clearly across his face.

 

“We have to wait for Harry!” Liam cries, exasperated, “How many times must I tell you that?”

 

“OH! Sorry mate!” Zayn apologizes, recognizing the extreme stress that Liam appears to be under. He claps a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Liam smiles faintly back, a small grin playing on his lips. What on earth had I done? I mean, Liam could often be neurotic at times - he was a perfectionist at heart - but never to this extent. The fatigue weathered on his features looked liked it was caused by countless nights of insomnia and heavy stress. Liam was a worrywart, as I liked to tease him about it sometimes, and he always wanted things to go to plan. He hated when something messed up his schedule and took anything that went wrong to heart. He always believed it was his fault in some crazy way and that he must fix it. I guess that’s why he has such a “big brother” influence on the lads and I. When Paul wasn’t around to keep us in check, Liam was always there to reprimand us. He adored being in charge, and liked to be orderly. Nevertheless, although Liam seemed strict at certain points in time, he also liked to mellow once in a while and just let loose. Liam was actually a very easy-going guy when he chose to relax. But today, as I look at his concerned expression, he was far from it.

~~~~

2 Weeks Prior

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

I reach the peak of the staircase, the lads trailing behind me, still climbing the mass of stairs below me. I can hear my breath being blown out from my mouth, heavy and ragged with fatigue, but I have no feeling of it. Even the violent tremors shaking my legs are forgotten in my rush to room 509. I barrel down the hall in a wildly out-of-control style, my feet slamming the tiled floor of the corridor in a frantic rhythm. I pay no attention to the activity around me and disregard the stares shot my way as I continue to run, my vision tunneled towards my destination. The only thing that I can think about is him. Louis, who is probably strapped to a stretcher, unable to move and terrified out of his mind.

 

It’s like I’m there, standing right beside him. I can almost feel the raw panic in the air and hear his faint whimpers that are ignored by the swarm of medical workers around him. Louis has absolutely no one to comfort him or anyone to console with; he’s entirely alone. Deep underneath Louis’ cheerful and bold exterior, there’s a portion of him that requires someone to be there for him, like a security blanket whenever he’s feeling down or unsure about himself. He was quite sensitive under all the countless jokes and incessant teasing and could draw into himself, merging easily into the habits of an introvert if provoked to do so. On the rare occasion when he did, it was the most petrifying feeling. The lads and I have all watched it happen and vowed never to let him take part in isolating us, his closest friends, from what he’s feeling. Louis was regularly quite good at expressing his emotions and had no inhibitions concerning speaking his mind, as anyone could guess by the way he spoke in the immeasurable amount of videos of us, especially the video diaries. Louis was often deemed “crazy” and “wild” due to the extent of incomprehensibleness that flowed from his mouth like the rain unleashing itself on Britain.

 

The smile that had unconsciously crept onto my face as I thought of his perfectly deranged personality is wiped off abruptly when I reach room 509. As I push the door open tentatively, I gasp in horror at the sight of Louis sprawled out on the bed, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, behind the throng of nurses and doctors crowding around him. The monitor beeps slowly, his heart’s sound echoing around the dingy hospital room. Besides the fact that he’s unaware of my presence, lying lifelessly in an ICU room, the thing that scares me most is the expression plastered on his face.

 

Louis is smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

Present Day

 

Ghosts. They’re everywhere in the hospital. I can feel their presence, the anguish that seeps through the layers of jumpers piled on my body and into the core of my soul. Like a trail of smoke, the distressful and miserable mood they carry is absorbed into anyone that enters the building. They may not be deemed real, but the everyday demons that people lug around inside of them are proof enough that they can exist. They’re even more common in here. Whether it’s the death of a loved one that a mother is burdened with or the mistake a surgeon made that cost someone their life, the ghosts travel aimlessly beside their assigned person in silent depression.

 

I’m sat in the main waiting room of level 5’s ICU center, in a rather uncomfortable metal chair that seems to like the fact that it sends painful tingles up my cramped back, as its structure isn’t the most suited for my needs. It feels like I’ve never stood up; never felt the sensation of walking before, due to the amount of time my butt has been firmly planted in the seat. I have refused to move - other than doing my business - for what seems like years and I was suffering the consequences terribly. I run my hands through my unkempt hair and my fingers immediately get tangled in the knots and snares. My masses of chocolate brown curls have lost their usual healthy sheen and bounce, and seem to droop over my face in shadows. I suppose the rest of my appearance isn’t too easy on the eyes either, as I hadn’t had the time to take care of myself properly when I’ve been entirely consumed with waiting. Waiting for him to wake up. It had been two full weeks since I had seen those gorgeous sky blue eyes and that adorable smile that made my insides churn with feeling, and to be quite honest, I wasn’t taking it very well. The lads tried their best to get me to eat, but the unsettled nerves and worries that filled my stomach left no room for food to satisfy. The most I had was half of a Twix bar from the vending machine down the hall from Louis’ room when the boys had stopped pestering me and the hunger simply became too much to handle - but other than that, food was just something I didn’t have time to deal with. I was in a state were nothing other than him mattered anymore, not even my own health.

 

A searing pain ripples up my backside and I almost topple off of the chair in a spasm-like movement. I fight back the urge to scream, and bite down furiously on my lower lip to cease the agony from escaping my mouth. I shift my balance slightly to the side where the throbbing is less uncomfortable and exhale slowly through my clenched teeth. I didn’t care how much discomfort I was in, as long as I was as close to him as I possibly could be, I was in the clear. Originally, I had taken to “living” in a plastic chair in Louis’ hospital room - just off to the side of his bed - but the nurses ended up kicking me out, saying it was unhealthy for me to be spending that much time sitting and waiting. I completely ignored their heartfelt advice and took to awaiting his return to consciousness in the chair closest to the door. Now I was only allowed two visits a day, each time being after his latest shot of antibiotics was injected. Although he wasn’t awake to see or feel them administer the sharp needle into his skin, I felt the need to be by his side as a source of comfort. Even the simplest of lacing my fingers with his might signal to his unconscious mind that someone was there, that someone cared. I often imagined that he could feel my touch and knew that I was there and supporting him. In my wildest fantasies, when he woke up, he knew it was me devoting all my time to sitting beside him and thanked me over and over again.

 

But those are just the incomprehensible thoughts that my mind creates when I’m running on an hour of sleep each night. I could barely bring myself to shut my eyes – even for the slightest moment – as the stress of sleeping through him waking up kept me alert. The fact the nightmares would resurface as soon as my eyelids fluttered shut for a mere second of relief did not help with my case either. They were slowly consuming my life, filling in the gaps where performances and promotion work were now absent. They struck my emotions with such force I believed they would break from the pressure and crumble away until feeling was of no importance to me anymore.

 

My eyes trail listlessly over the all-too-familiar corridor. The pale walls, faded to a terrible whitewashed peach, bring none of the “cheeriness” that the hall’s name implies. To be quite honest, the “Astounding Apricot Floor” does little to bring joy to my miserable mood that surrounds me like a cloud of depression. I don’t think it pleases anyone for that matter. The people around me are what I assume my disposition is as well; they’re all in a great deal of agony and suffering, plagued with the heavy fatigue of ghosts trailing their every move. From my own experience, it feels as if the weight of your own world is balanced precariously on your shoulders, and with one slight tip - one miniscule step out of line - and everything comes crumbling down around you, leaving you to suffer in the misery of what reality has become. Thinking of this, I rest my weary head in my hands and massage the tightened skin around the crown in an attempt at relaxation. It fails to cease the pain though, as my throbbing headache continues to bombard my mind with thoughts. A faint whine escapes my pursed lips in response to the never-ending reflections my conscious brain makes on the events taking place in my life at the moment. I just wanted it to stop. I was going insane, being alone with only my thoughts and feelings. I needed a release from reality.

 

I sigh and close my eyes. My next visit wasn’t until after midday. It couldn’t hurt to get a few minutes of sleeping and being dead to the world for a little while – I desperately needed some rest. Maybe even my brain would reach some form of tranquility for once. Before I know what’s happening, I slip into a deep sleep…

 

~~~~ 

The boy continued his steady pace towards a destination unknown to himself, his winter boots crunching the thick snow beneath his feet with a satisfying crunch. Soft Christmas songs flooded his ears with joy and the twinkling lights above shone with a gentle yellow glow that opposed to the midnight black sky. He inhaled the crisp scent of pine needles and gingerbread, admiring the way the sweet smells stirred up the memories of past holidays. He pulled his thin beanie further down his head as the chill of the icy wind blew through the fine fabric and froze his ears. He mentally slapped himself for failing to realize the frostiness of the winter’s night air and not wearing his leather jacket, he wrapped his arms tighter around his jumper’s delicate fabric. He shivered, in regard of this and blew out his breath in a trail of moisture that curled like cigarette smoke in the arctic-like breeze. He followed his exhalation of air, his gaze landing on another boy curled up in a café’s booth. He too wore a beanie and had rich, chocolate curls draping over his paled white skin. The ringlets reminded him of his cousin Madeline’s poodle-cross, the voluminous and glossiness of his hair reflecting the Christmas lights beautifully. The other boy was also much smarter than Louis and had taken the time to layer up in preparation for the winter night, sporting a hunter green quilted hacking jacket that suspiciously looked like it was from the recently released Jack Wills catalogue, and a cozy-looking cream cable knit pullover. Maybe it was just his overall warmth and friendliness that oozed out of him or the rather cheerful and regretless mood he was in that night - due to the abundance of Christmas spirit in the air - but he decided to take the risk and talk to the curly-haired lad.

~~~~

 

“And what a decision that was!” Louis chuckled as his eyes shone with fond reminiscence. The curly-haired boy was sat in a wooden rocking chair opposite to Louis’ loveseat, cozied up with a maroon coloured throw that had loose threads hanging from the ends and a warm cup of chamomile tea. He grinned back widely at Louis, revealing his perfectly straight and milky white teeth framed by full, pink lips.

 

“Yes…” the curly-haired boy agreed warmly, pausing to let the memories flood over him.

 

~~~~ 

Louis had made his way over to him, all confidence and charisma. He plopped down on the bench across from him like they were two friends meeting up for coffee and not complete strangers.

 

“Hi! I was walking by and noticed how you’re much more intelligent than I am, as you can tell,” the older boy’s words left his mouth in a flurry of excitement that matched the sparkle in his light blue eye, as he ran his un-gloved hands down his body in a gesture unknown to the curly-haired boy, “And I thought that was a great sign as to understand your interesting personality, you know…if you had one!”

 

The curly-haired boy raised an eyebrow skeptically, completely caught off-guard and overwhelmed by the other boy’s bubbly demeanor. He hadn’t known the lad for over a minute and yet he was already confronting him quite boldly, bombarding him with his opinions and impressions on him. He found it very odd, to be perfectly honest, but comforting in some way. He took this as an indication that he and the other boy would become good friends.

 

“So…do you?” the other boy slammed his hands abruptly down onto the table, folding them together and looking up at the lad opposite to him in fascination. The curly-haired boy jolted backwards from shock, his eyes widening in surprise.

 

“Do I what?” he asked tentatively, almost hidden from the other lad’s beaming gaze from shockingly stark blue eyes beneath his mass of curls. The other boy sighed, obviously impatient with his lack of progression in developing a conversation.

 

“Do you have an interesting personality?”

 

He thought about this for a minute. What on earth could be interesting about a 16-year-old from a town that nobody knew and bothered going to? From his point of view, he wasn’t very high on the interest scale and hadn’t had anything major happen to him. The few friends he had were little to talk about and honestly were quite dull themselves. It wasn’t like he was born from a line of royalty and was an undercover spy, roaming around for danger in the harmless English town of Doncaster! In fact, his life was so mind-numbingly boring, he could talk about his cat Dusty and make her everyday adventures seem much more riveting than his routine.

 

“Um…not really,” he shrugged lamely and looked down at his jean-clad legs in disappointment. He didn’t understand why he felt like he had let down the other boy sitting across from him. As if he would ever see him again, let alone converse. But there was something about the other boy and his intrepid manner, the way he seemed to suck his attention in with a single glance. It made him want to be more adventurous and daring – to be able to recall an event that was full of animated excitement and joy – a memory that he would tell someone like him, if they ever asked.

 

The other lad was most certainly amused with his answer, and let out a long, good-hearted laugh that rang like bells. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to join in even if you didn’t understand why you needed to - a sound that brought delight tingling down your spine and washed away your petty worries.

 

“So tell me…”

 

“Harry.”

 

“Tell me, Harry, why you think you’re not interesting? Because quite frankly, I disagree.”

 

“Well…I’m just…boring!”

 

“How so?”

 

Harry began to recall his life, starting off with the basics and sliding right into the deep stuff seamlessly. The other lad listened attentively and didn’t even make a single comment as he spoke his of his reality, focusing on him the entire time. When he finally finished hours later, completely out of breath yet exhilarated, the other lad stood up. He grabbed Harry’s mitten covered hand and urged him to do so as well.

 

“Nice to meet you Harry. I’m Louis Tomlinson and I’m your ticket to adventure.”

~~~~ 

 

Harry grins, the smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. He was very fond of his and Louis’ first encounter, as it had truly been a turning point in his life. Louis showed him what it was like to let go of his inhibitions that held him down from really flying and to just soar. Harry had become what he always wanted to be – a singer - but he could never muster enough courage to do so before the Doncaster lad wormed his way into his life. He had seen great success in the charts and became a worldwide sensation, adored by millions across the planet. But according to Harry, it was “all thanks to Louis” as he would tell anyone lovingly who ever asked him. “He was truly the cause of everything.”

 

Now it was exactly two full years that had passed since they first laid eyes on one another; to say that the days were crammed full with adventures unimaginable to 16-year-old Harry of the past was an understatement. Although he was rather impulsive – which often lead to vast amounts of trouble following him - Harry’s life was complete with Louis in it and he couldn’t ask for anymore than he already had at the moment. They had fallen deeply in love with each other, disregarding what anyone thought of them and continued to advance in their beautiful relationship. It was as simple as that. Harry was everything to Louis and Louis was everything to Harry. They both vowed it would never change – unless for the better – and promised to one another that they would love each other forever.

 

But things couldn’t always be perfect. While Harry was overseas in North America - performing his sensational arena tour for three tiresome months - Louis had developed a racking cough. He became extremely sick in a very brief period of time and was constantly obtaining intense colds that would last for weeks on end before disappearing suddenly, only to return days later. It ended up in the result of Louis being admitted to the hospital to run tests, leading to his diagnosis in September of Stage III Leukemia. It had been a shock for everyone – Harry especially. He bought a ticket to the first flight out of Dallas that day and raced home in a panicked frenzy, leaving everything else behind. He had spent the first part of the plane ride demolishing everything in sight due to his blistering rage at the fact that it had to be Louis and not him going through this, ruining some important pieces in his private jet. Defeated that nothing could change the outcome of the situation, he then took to bawling his eyes out for the next half. But as the plane touched down at Heathrow, Harry turned into stone. It was as if emotions weren’t a part of him anymore and no one could snap him out of his state. When he ended up seeing Louis that day, he broke down again, and continued to go through the process of these three emotions in a loop until he finally realized that he had to stay positive – for the sake of them both.

 

Harry sighed and took Louis’ frail hand in his own, rubbing his thumb soothingly on the back of the delicate skin. There wasn’t much time left according to Dr. Daniels, and it showed on Louis’ brittle body. From his chapped, shrunken lips to the blue tinge that covered his body with its icy tinge, Louis was the image of cancer-beaten. He appeared to be half his size somehow and his once luscious fringe had become paper thin, falling out in clumps and leaving patches of his head’s skin to be exposed. Never mind Louis’ appearance, he was just as beautiful to Harry as he was before cancer. He was still unconditionally and madly in love with the boy that made him feel free. Harry was also still grateful for Louis’ optimism, as the only thing that hadn’t changed about him was his attitude. Louis viewed cancer just like any other one of his manically deranged schemes and was always talking about how he was “kicking the life out of it.”

 

Harry bent down; folding over at the waist to plant a loving kiss tenderly on Louis’ flushed cheek. With his other hand that wasn’t intertwined with Louis’, he reached upwards and outlined Louis’ rough and chapped lips delicately with his index finger.

 

“I love you…okay? I just want to make sure you know,” Harry breathed in a whisper, gazing into his sparkling eyes adoringly.

 

“I know that silly. Why wouldn’t you want to love this?” Louis gestured in a sarcastic manner to his frail body adorned with bruises of multiple shades and scars of various lengths. He stopped to cough - sending a shudder through his entire core, shaking him violently. Harry was there in an instant, wrapping his arms protectively around the older boy’s fragile frame.

 

“We’ll get through this together – you and I,” Harry utters softly into Louis’ ear, “Just like I said from the start. Kick ass.” Both of the boys’ lips curl into a smile at Harry’s statement and they grip one another even tighter.

~~~~

 

But fate decided to take its toll, and Louis died a brief day later during the last rays of sunshine, while being held in his love’s arms. It was the celebration of his first day alive and the mourning of his last – December 24th.

 

Harry committed suicide shortly after his passing.

~~~~

 

STILL HARRY’S P.O.V

 

My eyes fly open, revealing the bloodshot orbs filled with absolute terror. I need to find Louis immediately. I have to establish whether or not he’s still alive. Panic courses through my veins and ignites my heart to begin racing at a hectic pace. It thumps so loudly that I think everyone in the room can hear its frantic rhythm. Conscious of this, I hastily glance around at the other people in the waiting room with me, noticing their vacant expressions that hold nothing but blank emotions. I feel as if the life has been sucked out of them and pulled into me, combining their panic with mine in a dangerous mixture. The memory of the nightmare holds me with a death grip, like a viper constricting its prey’s airflow and sends a dreadful sense of trepidation throughout my body. With the adrenaline pumping through my body that controls my mind and movements, I stand up and begin sprinting towards the dreaded room 509.

~~~~

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

Liam had finally calmed down once we all reassured him that Zayn would text Harry, notifying him to come and see that I had finally awaken from my apparently lengthy sleep. Sometimes he got really agitated quite easily and tended to become neurotic about the minor details, scaring all of the lads and I because we depended on him as our rock. Without his uniform problem solving, I know that many of our pointless squabbles would’ve turned into something more. I’m just grateful that Liam’s now relaxing in a plastic chair beside my bed, his hand placed comfortingly on my knee and his attention on the food held protectively in the hands of a certain Irish lad sitting opposite to him. Niall holds the chicken salad sandwich tightly in his hands, the bones outlining on his fingers in a reddish tinge due to the way he’s gripping the bread so possessively. He shoves an unnecessary amount in his mouth and half of it ends up dropping onto the brand-new turquoise Jack Wills chinos. By now, everyone’s attention is on him – even the nurses reattaching my freshly refilled IV bag – and we break out into a fit of laughter when the mayonnaise-coated chicken slides off the bread and onto him. Niall just glares, his bright blue eyes sparkling but narrowing slightly in faux-annoyance.

 

The door swings open abruptly with the strength of a sledgehammer, smashing against the white wall behind it in its forceful momentum. The picture that it hits rebounds and whizzes over the head of one of my thankfully quick-reflexed nurses, finishing its flight by splitting in half with an awful clamorous noise as it hits the tiled floor. The laughter ceases immediately and all eyes turn to face a panting Harry.

 

He stands in the doorway, his chest heaving up and down with his heavy breathing. His clothes are rumpled and creased, looking as if he’d been sitting in one place for an entire week and his hair is absolutely out of control. I quite like the look of his curls splayed off in different directions, the wildness of it making me want to wrap my fingers around the mass of messy ringlets. The expression in his eyes is abnormal and foreign, resembling similarities to the emotion of rage. But as he steps closer, I can see the distraught and inconsolableness of his saddened green orbs. He’s entirely focused on me and no one else, pushing past the other’s concerned hands in his path to me. I return his intense gaze, marveling in the prominence of the bold emerald in his green orbs. When he finally reaches me, he hesitates for a moment, as if he’s unsure of something. Worry creases his forehead and I realize he must be looking at my bruises. The other lads had given me Zayn’s pocket mirror to take a peek at the damage that one of the wine bottles that had collided with the side of my face caused, and I was shocked to discover the black and purple stains adorning my previously clear skin.

 

Inhibitions set aside; he envelops me in a bone-crushing hug full of what feels like remorse and guilt. Why on earth would he feel at fault for the state I’m in? If anything, he was trying to snap me out of my emotionless state before I passed out. I wrap my arms around him in return, squeezing him tight. I can feel him shuddering uncontrollably and I know he’s about to have a meltdown. I rub his back in slow, consoling circles to prevent this, massaging the tense knots that are positioned throughout his backside. He buries his head in my shoulder, his unruly curls tickling the sensitive hairs on the back of my neck – triggering tingles to shoot down my spine and goose bumps to spread all over my body. We continue to stay like that for what seems like an eternity, his breath warming my neck and my arms secured around him. It was like a little slice of heaven, with the only thing in our consciousness being each other. When his breathing returns to normal and resumes its regular pattern, we release one another and slide right back into maintaining eye contact.

 

“You’re awake.”

 

“Yeah I guess I am, considering the fact that my eyes are open and I’m talking…but you never know…”

 

“Shut-up,” he smiles for the first time, the grin reaching his eyes “But you were asleep for so long Louis – I was…I was getting um…really worried,” the smile fades immediately and is replaced by a frown masking his features.

 

“Yeah, I guess a night is so tough for you Styles – missing me too much? ‘Cause you know, the bed’s never warm enough without me in it!”

 

Everyone groans in pretend annoyance to my statement and Harry just laughs, rolling his eyes.

 

“But seriously Louis, it was more than one night.”

 

Liam steps in, worry clouding his face, “You were in a coma for two full weeks Louis…Harry’s not lying when he said it was tough on him…on all of us as well.”

 

I blink, not absorbing the information until I the importance of what he said kicks in.

 

I was asleep for two weeks.

 

Fourteen entire days.

 

What?!


	12. Chapter 12

NIALL’S P.O.V

 

Throughout the two weeks Louis was confined to his barely-conscious state in a coma, I had noticed the drastic toll it had taken on a certain curly-haired member of our band. He couldn’t eat nor sleep - the after affects and stress of the entire situation prominent on his features. Harry’s once bouncy and glistening chocolate ringlets have become dull and listless, matching the lethargic state of disorder he seems to be in. His eyes appear to be constantly clouded over as he retreated into his inner introvert, their gaze set nowhere in particular. Most importantly, the cheeky personality that the lads and I have come to know so well ceased to exist, dissolving away for the delicate and almost suicidal disposition that had taken ahold of his worried features. This sent a wave of horror through the three of us, and we would commonly exchange pained looks amongst one another in response to his dire stature. As all of us had said from the start – we win as a team and also lose as one. And if we were in the possibility of losing two of us, then the road would most certainly be a rough one.

 

But now, as I glance over at the beaming boy who is clutching the bed-ridden lad’s hand as if he’ll vanish into thin air at any given moment – I finally breathe a contented sigh of relief. I desperately hoped this was a sign for the better and Harry would finally consume anything other than that dreadful jug of water that’s sat beside his waiting room chair. I had honestly never seen him eat anything but one measly packet of crackers from the vending machine. I had even offered my precious meals to him over the weeks and I never give up food willingly. And although Harry seemed to recognize the significance of my actions, he still turned down my countless proposals of delicious food. I had retreated back to Liam and Zayn time after time in defeat, shaking my head in response to their unspoken question every occasion this occurred. They would sigh and then return to glancing pointedly in worry at the multiple ribs that were protruding from underneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

 

Harry bent over at the waist to whisper something to Louis, his lips brushing the tip of his ear almost flirtatiously. Louis squirms due to the contact - but not in discomfort as much as pleasure – and smiles break across both of their faces. Running my hands through my gelled blond tresses, I regard the adorably admirable proximity the two are in proportion to one another. A hand of Louis’ is enveloped in the massive grip of Harry’s, while the other rests comfortably on Harry’s leg as it clenches his kneecap possessively. Harry’s other hand is draped around Louis’ shoulders, carefully weaving in between the disorganized jumble of tubes connected to the blue-eyed lad as it lovingly embraces the slender frame of his body. They’re sat there, intertwined and entirely idyllic – without a single care in the world except the other. Even us three lads are forgotten as the two stare into one another’s eyes in fascination, laughter bubbling up their throats and spilling mercifully out of their smiling lips.

 

I turn to Zayn and Liam sitting to my left and murmur, “It’s times like these when I wonder if what they say is true…maybe the fans are right…Harry and Louis might just love each other.”

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

“…And there was this old lady that was sat right next to me, and you wouldn’t believe how rude she was! She took the whole thing way too seriously and…”

 

Harry continues to chatter away animatedly, the regularly leisurely speed at which he spoke completely disregarded as his lips articulated the excited sounds that poured out of his mouth in a rush. He’s trying to inform me in on some older lady that had done something absolutely outrageous while I was asleep, but I’m too distracted by the lad himself to pay any attention.

 

Flicking my gaze upwards, I couldn’t help but stare dazedly into his eyes, the boldness and depth of his jade coloured orbs holding me in place. I didn’t want to act like a loon, but I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from his eyes. They always seemed to have that effect on me. It scared me to be honest - to think that he could have that amount of control over me, yet it felt pleasant in a deranged and twisted sort-of way. I noted the way his pupils dilated back and forth, between almost covering his radiant green irises, to their normal state, as he seemed to have no inhibitions whatsoever with continuing to recall his story in a vast amount of enthusiasm. He appeared to be entirely absorbed with this, and the glistening surface of his eyes brightened every time I seemed to blink. I desperately tried to listen and to grasp the information that he’s so excited to tell me, but I couldn’t bear to wrap my head around his story when his eyes were already so compelling.

 

“You’re not even listening to me…are you?”

 

I blush, embarrassed to be caught in the middle of gaping at the exquisiteness of him and quickly save myself with a comeback, “Yes...of course I was! Something about how Louis’ the most gorgeous person on the planet and how everyone else is inferior compared to him…something about modern civilization being classified as peasants because he’s so beautiful and talented?”

 

He rolls his eyes and snorts disbelievingly, “Oh yeah…I forgot to finish that one,” he pause to contemplate and rubs his fake beard, “What was it? It ended up with a certain person punching someone in the face? Something that went a little like this?”

 

Harry reaches over playfully and taps me lightly on the forehead with his knuckles, cheekily grinning all the while. I quickly grab his fist with my hand, enclosing his large fingers in mine. Although we’ve touched and held one another’s hands countless times, the same thrilled feeling that I had experienced while walking down NYC’s streets while escaping the fans resurfaces, sending electrifying chills down my spine. I marvel at the smoothness and almost-buttery texture of his hands, the extreme softness of them taking me off-guard as I play absentmindedly with his pinky finger. From the limited sights of my peripheral vision, I can see his smile deepen, the dimples denting his flushed skin perfectly. I bite my lip to hide the grin that works its way onto my features in spite of my efforts and I cast a coy glance from underneath my eyelashes at him. He catches me red-handed once again and winks, sending a flash of heat through my face. I bet by now that my cheeks are glowing with mortification and Harry can obviously see how flustered I’ve become because of this. I force myself to look downwards and away from his taunting, cat-like eyes and instead focus on the planes and ridges of his enormously large hands. Unsure of how he’ll react, I trace a finger hesitantly over the veins protruding from underneath his pale skin - the tip of it trailing the lines created by the blue stripes. For a brief moment I believe I can almost feel him shudder under the touch of my index finger, but I dismiss it as a figment of my imagination. Surely I couldn’t generate such a response from Harry?

 

“That feels nice. Do it again.”

 

I look up in bewilderment, perplexed yet pleased that he had spoken and had ventured as far as to say that. I cock one eyebrow upward dubiously, but Harry has shut his eyes and leaned back against his chair. Taking this as an answer to my inquiry, I repeat the pattern once again on the back of his hand, tracking the veins as they spiral up his fingers and disappear into his skin. He sighs in what I hope is pleasure and I allow myself to develop a small smile of satisfaction. I really did have a smidgen of control over the curly-haired lad – he wasn’t just coercing me to bow underneath his charming power nor was I imagining things.

 

And that is what I have secretly craved for years – although I haven’t even bothered to notice before.

 

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

“Easy now; gently! There you go…don’t rush, take it slow Louis!” I holler at the 20-year-old whipping the wheelchair around with such a force I believe it’s going to tip over at any given moment. As his tanned arms move the wheels hurriedly – sending the metal contraption down the path with a hazardous amount of speed – he laughs unreservedly as if to dismiss my insignificant worries. But as the sound of the rubber tires scraping furiously against the asphalt increased its speed, I couldn’t help feeling like a new mother watching her child take their first steps. In reality, Louis is a kid at heart, and that certainly doesn’t add to the comforting affect of the whole situation. The doctor has him strictly confined to a wheelchair for the week – not wanting to force any intense or vigorous exercise on the poor lad – as he specifically stated that he wanted the next week for Louis to be completely stress-free. But little did he know how much Louis has always wanted to be on wheelchair rest. I can briefly remember some of the schemes he was reviewing earlier - the severity of them worrying myself and several other people involved with his safety.

 

The sound of metal crunching against metal fills the air, the obnoxious clanging noise resounding around the front lot of the hospital, and I automatically reach up to cover my sensitive ears. Without even bothering to open my eyes, I already know that Louis is the cause of all the mayhem. I sigh, wondering what on earth he could’ve done this time. It always seemed to happen like this. In any given circumstance, Louis would find a way to do something mischievous and polar opposite to the rules, his natural rebellious demeanor taking control. Most of the time, it was hysterical and the lads and I would have a good laugh about his idiocy, but in situations such as the one we’re in now – his recklessness can prove to become troubling and hazardous. I flick my eyelids open slowly, revealing my green irises and quickly locate where the troublesome yet lovable lad has ended up.

 

He’s grinning wildly, a cheeky smile smeared across his face, as the once sturdy structure of the wheelchair is now crumpled and dented into a pitiful state. He’s still sitting in the canvas seat, his legs oscillating back and forth repeatedly between the shafts of crushed metal like a six-year-old on a swing. Instead of crossing my arms and rolling my eyes in response to his juvenile antics - like I normally would in any other situation - I rush over to his side in a flurry of panic. The dreadful thought of him in pain surges through me, the looming presence of fear hanging over my head in a dark cloud. He shoots me a confused look as I unfasten the Velcro straps restraining his torso to the now demolished chair, obviously baffled as to why I appear to be so worried. I ignore his incessant gaze and the way his eyes seem to bore confusedly into me like stones, instead choosing to finish my work of loosening the bands. I have to do it quickly; otherwise he could possibly tangle himself in the maze of flattened metal and end up injuring his sensitive body due to the delicate state his frame is in.

 

When the final restraint is released, I gently begin to tug on his shoulders and begin to lift him out of the chair carefully. But Louis is completely oblivious as to what I’m trying to do, and begins to fight against my grip on his body. He swats my hand, like brushing a fly off his shoulder, the simple gesture of rejection sending a wave of humiliation through me, as a flush hidden by my mass of curls creeps up my neck. I attempt to not let the action discourage me, but I can’t help but feel the full force of embarrassment that washes over me. Louis has always had quite the determined side to him, and often refuses others’ help when he truly believes he can complete a difficult task in isolation. And normally, if that was the case, then the lads and I would let him solve the problem on his own. However, in a circumstance such as this one – I’m not letting him do anything by himself. It’s simply precarious and much too risky to allow him to try and lift himself out of the jumble of metal all alone.

 

“No,” I gently place a hand over his, “Let me help you.”

 

He looks up at me in a dazed confusion, a mixture of utter disbelief and a hint of gratitude, crinkling the frown lines in his forehead. He opens his mouth slightly, parting his lips from one another as if he’s about to say something, but abruptly reconsiders and clamps his mouth shut.

 

This time, when I enclose my arms tightly around his torso to gingerly lift him, he relaxes and doesn’t fight the contact. Instead, he responds as he regularly would when I hug him, gripping onto the back of my shirt with his hands. He snuggles his head into the crook of my shoulder, nuzzling his unshaven jaw against my sensitive skin. His intimate touch immobilizes me immediately, suspending me from releasing him as he continues to wedge his head further into the curve of my shoulder. I let out a shaky breath, the tingles from his close proximity sending tingles travelling in waves throughout my body. The way he seems to fit seamlessly in my arms like a missing puzzle piece startles me, as the feeling of warmth that spreads through me due to the whole situation takes me by surprise. I can feel my heart rate increasing furiously as he readjusts his hold on my shirt, gripping tighter with his fingers and digging into my skin with his fingernails. I hold in a groan and instead squeeze him harder, bringing him closer to my chest. He exhales and blows cool air on the back of my neck, making me shiver with a sense of delight that knots my stomach. His legs come up almost instinctively and wrap around my waist, making my knees buckle not from the weight, but the quivering sensation that takes ahold of my weakening body. I just seem to melt underneath his touch – Louis always knows exactly what to do when it comes manipulating me. But this heat, this fire that spreads on my skin after every touch is something beyond my knowledge of why it occurs and completely out of the ordinary.

 

But as his lips press innocently into my neck, just below my jugular vein as he burrows his head further into me, I couldn’t help but wonder if the warmth lighting up and sending tingles through every fraction of my body had something to do with a particular four letter word.


	13. Chapter 13

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

I stared at the glass window facing the west end of the room, not quite looking through it, but instead focusing on the way the rivulets of water streamed down its transparent surface. The water droplets appeared to be having a race, leaving wet streaks of moisture behind as gravity pulled them downwards. The rain outside created a soothing noise, drowning out all my unwanted and negative thoughts. I leaned back in the woven chair and sighed.

 

It had been exactly one week since I had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, and in that brief period of time I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. It was inevitable really. To honestly try and go back to living my regular life would simply be impossible. It just wasn’t the same; Eleanor and I’s relationship wasn’t exhausted - hanging on by a thread - and she wasn’t that huge part of my life anymore. Even the boys had changed slightly due to this, always being more cautious and dancing around the subject ever so unconvincingly whenever it happened to come up in a conversation.

 

The door creaked open slightly, revealing the distinctive blonde tufts of hair belonging to the lone Irishman of the group. Niall slipped into the room quietly, as if not to disturb my intense concentration focused on the raindrops rolling down the window. He gave me a half-hearted smile, but I refused to meet his eyes. Instead, I resumed my stoic posture, with my eyes set straight ahead and my lips formed in a straight line.

 

“Hey Louis,” he greeted me tentatively, his voice unsure, yet sincere.

 

I didn’t even blink, let alone force myself to open my mouth and reply. It seemed like everything took too much effort these days.

 

Niall padded across the maple hardwood floors of my flat, his socks softly scraping the ground. He ran a hand through the gelled strands of his quiff, tugging and releasing the blonde hair as if he was in pain. His mouth opened and then closed just as quickly. He sighed, and his eyebrows stretched downwards to fit over his eyes in a pondering way. “The boys and I are downstairs with a bit of Nando’s…I reckon you’re a tad bit hungry huh? Have you been eating Louis? Please tell me you have.”

 

The sharp pains of hunger that had started some previous days before had all but ceased, and continued to torment my stomach with knife-like stabs. I wanted to tell Niall no - that I wasn’t hungry - but the sickly sweet smell of chicken wafting up the stairs through the slight crack of my bedroom door made my body decide otherwise. My gut growled menacingly.

 

Niall laughed, the worried atmosphere he had brought into the room with him dissolving immediately, “How about some chicken then?”

 

I nodded slightly and retracted my gaze from the rain to Niall standing before me ever so hopefully, offering him a brief smile. My knees cracked as I stood up from my seat, the muscles contracting in protest from being positioned the same way for such a lengthy period of time. Shaking out my left leg as angry needle-like tingles shot up the sore limb, I followed Niall down the stairs. We travelled into the kitchen, being met by three figures crowded around my marble-countered breakfast bar. On the smooth grey surface of the island sat various paper bags, with the logo that we were all so fond of printed on their sides. The delicious smell drifted from the takeaway and entered my nose, making me emit a low groan that resulted in the three dark-haired heads to whip around in my direction.

 

“Louis!” Zayn exclaimed, a grin breaking across his stubble covered face. An identical one also formed on Liam’s features, his smile lines crinkling as he exposed a toothy grin. I gave a generous smile back on my part in regards to my mood, keeping my lips tightly closed together.

 

Liam teased me gently in a friendly way; “We were beginning to think that you’d been exiled to the pits of your bedroom, so we thought that we’d bring you some Nando’s.”

 

I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his statement. The corners of my lips turned slightly more upwards and formed a relaxed grin, “Thanks. I was beginning to think myself that I’d never leave!”

 

All of the lads smiled, except for the broody curly-haired one who refused to meet my gaze. Harry fiddled nervously with his thin, long fingers, interlocking them together and then pulling them apart abruptly. There was some kind of stress that radiated from his hunched form. It seemed to enter my body, instantaneously wiping away the happiness that I had felt just moments before.

 

I frowned. Out of all people, why wouldn’t he meet my gaze? The tense position he had unnaturally formed his body into sparked my curiosity. I focused on the way his taught muscles fought with the seams of his t-shirt, stretching the blue fabric across his back. I wondered what had made him this frazzled. It wasn’t as if the lads and I was angry with him - as far as I could tell.

 

Shaking my head to dispel my thoughts, I re-set my gaze on the paper bags the Liam and Zayn were already eagerly tearing open, and joined in their quest to grab as much food as possible before Niall could get any.

~~~~~

The squeaking noises of cutlery hungrily scraping plates resounded around my living room area, as the lads and I dug into the takeaway Nando’s they had so generously gotten me. I shoved a piece of chicken into my mouth, chewing slowly as I observed the scene around me.

 

It had been awhile since I had any visitors in my flat, and to be perfectly honest, it seemed quite out of the ordinary when compared to my usual routine. The overflowing mass of napkins, plates and utensils crowded onto my glass coffee table made it much more cluttered than the usual lone plate. Even the rhythmic chewing of the other lads seemed too loud compared to my quiet bites. But I was enjoying the company my best friends provided. I had completely shut myself out from the world around me for seven days, and I was beginning to understand the toll it had taken on me. Obviously, it was nice to have some isolation from everyone once in a while, but I could only tolerate my thoughts for so long before I would go insane.

 

Everyone except Harry was intently watching the flat screen TV above the mantelpiece of my fireplace, letting out cheers every so often as his favourite football team would score. Groans of frustration also echoed around the room in response to an increase in the opposite team’s points. I had attempted to watch the football with the same level of interest as the other lads, but my attention kept wavering, and my eyes ended up drifting over to Harry sitting in the far right corner. He seemed distracted; his hands reaching up every so often to fondle a strand of his hair, and his green orbs flicking around the room so fast I got dizzy trying to follow them. I frowned, and peered closer at his tense shoulder muscles contracting in some form of discomfort.

 

As if he could sense my heavy eyes analyzing his uptight frame, he cast a glance towards me. I immediately dropped eye contact to stare at the half-eaten dinner assorted on my plate in a jumble of food. I dug my fork into a pile of broccoli and brought the mushy tree-like vegetables to my lips, forcing my curiousness to cease for a moment. I finished the entire clump of the disgusting broccoli without looking sideways and kept my attention solely focused on the football match being aired on the T.V. I was about to begin digging into the small cluster of rice, until his distinctively skinny frame stood up and made its way out of living area. My eyes surreptitiously flicked over to watch Harry’s departure before my legs were suddenly underneath me, and unconsciously carrying me to follow him into the kitchen.

~~~~~ 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

I was having petrifying flashbacks. Repeatedly.

 

Just when I thought the nightmares had ceased after Louis’ arrival back home to his flat - and away from that horrid hospital - they had made a return shortly after his diversion into an introvert.

 

They tormented me; twisting reality until I couldn’t tell which way was up or down. I often woke up various times throughout a night, sweating profusely, with my heart pounding furiously and my mind a disorganized conundrum. Briefly after returning to consciousness, I would scream out in terror like a mental hospital patient until the fear would ebb away. An overwhelming sense of desolation would then creep into me, my shrieks slowly becoming heavy choking sobs. The process would then repeat, occurring up to five consecutive times on a particularly bad night.

 

I leaned against the cool marble of Louis’ countertop, gasping in oxygen as I desperately tried to collect myself. I couldn’t let any of the lads know about this. Mere seconds ago, one of the nightmares had resurfaced, seizing my body and sending my mind into a swarm of memories…

~~~~~ 

The fire was ablaze, burning with a fevered passion so intense its heat threatened to burn right through the thin fabric of the teenager’s white t-shirt although he was standing far away. Smoke billowed out in opaque clouds from the roof of the apartment buildings, stretching out to intertwine with the blackness of the starry night. Fire trucks were parked just meters away from the scene, their red metal glowing ominously in the flame’s light. A swarm of firefighters sprayed the building with thick hoses, but their valiant attempts to tame the growing beast in front of them were not making a difference.

 

The boy couldn’t believe his eyes. He could not comprehend the fact that everything he had in his possession was now a part of the raging fire. But yet, all of his money, clothes, and food that were currently being burned to a crisp were insignificant, as the one he held close at night was trapped inside the death maze of the incinerating apartment building.

 

Pushing past the crowd of his neighbors and concerned citizens, the boy sprinted towards the fire. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and electrified his senses, but his heart was pumping with pure compassion. His feet slapped the pavement, bringing him closer to his destination. The boy stealthily snuck around the side of the fire trucks to avoid being noticed and scrambled into the side entrance of the building.

 

Once stepping inside, the boy was engulfed in the roaring heat wave of flames. They ate at his skin, licking up his arms and singeing the delicate hairs on them. He had no wet towel or sweatshirt to cover himself with, and the heat of the fire was unbearably painful on his body. He coughed, and covered his mouth with his already soot-coated hands. Any sane person at this point would be regretting entering the building at this point – let alone go within five feet of it – but the boy pursued on with his task. His love was unbreakable.

 

He ducked out of the way of the falling pieces of wood and tiny explosions of fire, making it through the thick smoke to where he remembered the stairwell should be. He reached out blindly through his blurred vision, groping along the wall for a door. The boy blatantly ignored the white-hot sensation of his hand burning as it finally clasped around the metal door handle, and swung the door open instead.

 

The boy stepped inside the stairwell, and quickly closed the door shut to prevent any flames from entering the room. The enclosed area had a thin veil of smoke floating around the curly headed boy’s knee-level, but no fires were present. The thick concrete walls blocked out all sound from the raging fire a few feet away, and all the boy could hear was his own ragged breathing. He attempted to clear his parched throat, but ended up starting a coughing fit. His chest heaved up and down as his lungs desperately tried to clear the smoke out of them. After a few minutes, he could breathe a little easier, and he began his climb up the stairs.

 

He gripped the metal railing with his un-burnt hand, leaning into its frame for support as he dragged himself up. He could hear his loved one’s voice getting closer as he ascended up the staircase, but he was almost positive he was hallucinating. But still, out of sheer hope and a nagging sensation in his gut, the boy continued up to the third floor. Went his foot hit the top step, the boy realized the slowly accumulating smoke was now much thicker. It had grown to the point where it reached his eye-level. Crouching down to protect his watering eyes, the boy took to crawling across the floor. He turned his body around to begin scaling the steps once again, but stopped abruptly. His hand had grazed a body.

 

The boy tentatively reached out to touch the figure once again, and familiar feel of the body’s shoulders sent a flicker of recognition through the boy’s eyes. Right in front of him was the man he loved without doubt. The person he had risked his life for. He collapsed on top of his love’s frame in a blubbering, sobbing mess. But only did then he realize that the normally warm and comforting thud of his love’s heart was absent. Realization coursed through the boy, but his heart refused to let him believe what his brain was telling him. He was still alive. He had to be. Flipping over his love to face upwards in a frantic rush, the boy screeches as he views the ashen face presented in front of him. His eyes were open but unblinking, and there was no pink tinge to his tanned cheeks. The normal steady rise and fall of his chest was not occurring. The boy had been too late.

 

The boy knew he didn’t have much time left himself, and gently took his soot-covered fingers and closed his deceased love’s eyes. The boy fondly brushed a stray light brown strand of hair back on his love’s forehead whilst his eyes shone with reminisce. He then lay down next to him, intertwining their hands together for the last time. The boy closed his eyes with a sigh.

 

“I love you Louis.”

 

But there was no “I love you Harry” back.

~~~~~ 

STILL HARRY’S P.O.V

 

My torso dug uncomfortably into the side of the countertop as I distraughtly tried to calm my racing heart. I ran a shaking hand through my hair, my clammy palms sticking to the chocolate brown ringlets. The flames were still as clear as day - as realistic as Louis’ fridge directly across from me. I could physically feel the sore, dry throat of the dream-me, and the desperate need for a glass of water. But my knees were wobbling too much to properly walk a step away to the cabinet and grab a cup.

 

“Harry?” Louis’ voice rang out, breaking through the barrier of my chaotic thoughts. I glanced up to see his body inches away from mine, a concerned expression plastered across his tanned face.

 

The joyful relief of him being alive coursed through me, and I wanted to run over to him and envelope his short frame into a loving hug. No, scratch that. I wanted to kiss those deliciously pink lips that formed into my favourite cheeky smile. I craved to be able to run my hands through his fringe, my hands catching on the roughly gelled clumps and breathe in the intoxicating smell of him as I pulled him closer to me. I had never experienced such a magnetic force that drew me towards him with anyone else, nor had I felt the overwhelming warm feeling that surged through my blood every time he was near. My ragged breathing, irregular heartbeat, and nervous tingles seemed to increase by ten fold whenever he touched me - regardless if it was a slight brush of his hand on my arm, or a full-on hug. I was scared of what all of these reactions meant, but I knew that my desire for him was unquestionably ardent.

 

“Harry,” Louis’ voice took on a soft tone as he reached his hand out to clasp my shoulder, “what’s wrong?”

 

My throat constricted. I physically could not allow oxygen to enter my lungs and flow into my body anymore. My mind fought several internal battles at once of what to say in response, but my body decided contrarily. I grabbed a greedy fistful of his striped blue top, pulling him flush with me. My hands slowly trailed up the back of his neckline, making him shudder in delight. My fingers played loosely with the hair at the nape of his neck and he sighed. I grinned devilishly; pleased with the way I appeared to have a significant amount of control over him. But what I didn’t interpret was his hand that stretched upwards to caress my cheek in an affectionate gesture.


	14. Chapter 14

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

Dangerous tingles shot up my spine as Harry snatched up a clump of my blue striped t-shirt and pulled me closer to him. Our thighs were barely touching against one another’s, but I could feel the electricity every time the fabric of my jeans brushed with his. I gulped, my Adam’s apple feeling heavy in my throat. He was mere inches away, the boldness of his vibrant green eyes staring at me with an indefinable emotion. If I tilted my chin slightly upwards, my lips would be locked with his easily. My stomach erupted into a flurry of nervous tingles as the thought crossed my mind. This was wrong, so wrong. But it seemed that every time Harry was added into the equation, all logic was thrown out the window.

 

I drank in every delicate detail of his pale features, admiring the way his eyes sparkled with the ecstasy of life and the smooth contours of his deftly crafted cheekbones. My eyes flicked downward to rest their gaze on his plump pink lips, my hand unintentionally coming up to graze his cheek. It flushed a deep shade of red as my fingers skimmed over his smooth skin and a small grin of satisfaction crept on to my face due to his reaction, pulling my lips upwards slightly. He smiled back, leaning in even further to the point where my eyes crossed to keep him in focus. We were dangerously close. To be in this intimate of a position should be illegal it was so intoxicating. I wanted to entangle my hands in his untamed curls, twisting them around my hands and press my thin lips to his full ones. Just a centimeter closer. One miniscule movement.

 

I took a deep breath and returned my gaze back upwards to focus on his eyes. They stared back into mine questionably, as if looking for confirmation. Asking if I was okay with this. He tilted his head to the side, his eyelashes fluttering shut. The pleasant scent of mint washed over my face as his lips parted slightly before brushing against mine.

 

Shock swam through my body, and my knees buckled from the buzzing warmth spreading through me. His thick, plump lips grazed my thin ones – not quite kissing, but rather skimming over them. Instinctively, my hands reached up to cup his cheek and pull him closer to me, but the rational part of my brain kicked in and screamed at me to stop before I could go too far. He was my mate; my best friend. My fingers fell back to my side reluctantly, and I pulled away before we could fully press our eager lips against each other’s. I could feel the confusion seeping from him as I took a tentative step away. My legs shook, trembling with fear at the thought of what we had just come so close to doing.

 

“L-Louis…?” Harry said, his voice cracking with embarrassment. His large eyes were glassy and filled with the painful jade green of rejection. My breath hitched at his vulnerability, and for a minute, he was sixteen again – all wild curls, hunched shoulders, and flushed cheeks. I wanted to run over and nestle my hands in his hair and kiss the living shit out of him, murmuring assurances softly in his ear.

 

But it was wrong - I shouldn’t be having such passionate desires about my closest friend. The emotional turmoil that came with upsetting that balance was something I didn’t want him to have to endure. I shook my head once and bit my lip. “I’m sorry,” I croaked, “I just can’t…do this right now.” I then abruptly turned on my heel, flew past the other three lads crowed around my flat screen, and ascended up the stairs to my room in a flurry.

 

~~~~~

 

LIAM’S P.O.V

 

2 months later

 

I sat down on the leather sofa, my weight sinking into its plush cushions. The other lads followed my lead and plopped down as well, Harry and Louis both being as far apart as the tiny couch would allow. We were attending yet another interview regarding the topic of our sophomore tour in America.

 

I turned to my left, “Hey Harry.”

 

His sullen green eyes flicked to mine for a split second and then quickly resumed their position of staring broodingly at the floor. “Hi,” he responded icily.

 

I sighed. Harry was in one of his moods again. He became so demoralized it was almost impossible to communicate with him. He refused to open up to any of us – the people who would give up their lives to protect him. Even if you managed to create a miniscule crack through the brick wall barrier guarding his emotions, it was slathered up with the cement of his chilly retorts before you could blink an eye.

 

Neither Niall nor Zayn knew what had triggered his foul mood, but I had an inkling that it had to do something with the day we went over to Louis’ house to celebrate the one-week mark of his release from the hospital. He had gone to tidy up his dishes in typical classy Harry manner, and had returned from the kitchen minutes later with his eyes swollen red. He had waved off my inquiries regarding the puffiness of his watery orbs as the start of a cold. Niall and Zayn bought his excuse easy enough, their attention soon returning to the flat screen after ordering him to go home and get some shut-eye. But the nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach as I looked at his distraught expression wouldn’t leave me alone. He appeared to be broken in some way. It wasn’t just the regular bug he had caught – it was something much more significant than that. And that something was love.

 

I fought the urge to roll my eyes – the camera was trained on our faces and I had a reputation to maintain. “Do you want to talk about it?” I pressed gently, offering him an open expression.

 

“No.”

 

My eyes flickered innocently over to Louis sitting on the opposite end of the couch. Harry followed my gaze and a look of pure hatred settled on his features when he saw who I was looking at. “Are you sure? It really looks like you need someone to talk to.”

 

He glowered. “Don’t give me that shit Liam, I don’t need your help.”

 

My thick eyebrows knitted together dubiously. I tried again, “Harry…”

 

“Don’t “Harry” me.”

 

I peered closer at him, scrutinizing and dissecting the anger in his hateful green irises. He squirmed underneath my intense stare and began to fiddle nervously with his fingers – a bad habit of his. I knew enough from his twiddling hands to draw my conclusion. A faint smile played on my lips. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

 

“Oh trust me, I am,” he said shortly, not meeting my doubtful eyes. “I’m sick and tired of all of you babying me. I am nineteen years old, not five,” he stated, and his voice taking on a mocking tone, “Now if you would so kindly screw off, as we have an interview to do.”

 

A wave of hot anger flashed over me, but I quickly restrained it from bubbling over and letting the enraged words spill from my mouth. Harry was just being bitter and remorseful towards a certain Doncaster lad - not me. I had to admit that hit a little below the belt, but I wasn’t going to let his detestable attitude ruin my day. Crossing my fingers and dropping my folded hands onto my lap robotically, I responded sarcastically, “Whatever you’d like Harry.”

 

He tried to glare at me, but the corners of his lips betrayed him, and lifted slightly upwards.

 

~~~~~

 

HARRY’S P.O.V 

 

As soon as the door to my latest king-sized suite closed, I immediately dropped the sickly sweet smile plastered to my face. It was like removing a brick that had already been plastered into a wall – you had to painfully chisel out the dry concrete hammer by hammer. I opened my mouth and closed it repeatedly, rubbing the small stubble growing on my sore jawline. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the façade that was my “perfect” life. The enormous amount of pressure that I felt weighed down on my weary shoulders in a burden similar to what Atlas felt. I was literally carrying the world on my shoulders – or at least the heavily influenced opinions of its inhabitants.

 

I exhaled with a tired sigh. It wasn’t as if I had never felt the stress of keeping up a good public face or being whipped around the world to various concerts and interviews before. But I had never been so desolated as I was now, curled up into a ball on the ground, blankly staring out the window at the cars shuttling past on the crowed highway. I wanted someone to tell me that everything was going to be okay; that everything would be fine in the end. But I was alone, in this horribly empty place of dejection.

 

A tear of self-pity rolled down my hollowed cheek, and I furiously wiped it away. I was so self-consumed it sickened me. I shouldn’t be crying – I had millions of fans across the globe that adored and loved me entirely. But yet, as I kept conjuring up reasons why I shouldn’t have this heaviness in my heart, his haunting words echoed in a loop in my mind.

 

“I just can’t…do this right now. I just can’t…do this right now.”

 

Sweltering, hot embarrassment coursed through my veins as I reminisced back to the moment where he pulled free from my grip on his t-shirt, separating the distance between us that I had fought to gain for so long. I had really begun to believe that he could possibly think of me in the way that I’m so despairingly consumed with every detail of his existence. And when he allowed me to delicately graze my fevered lips over his without complaint, I jumped to the pitiful conclusion that he truly did return whatever feeling lit me up whenever he was near.

 

I smeared my wet eyes on the hem of my top, soaking the thin fabric in salty tears. Gasping sobs escaped my trembling lips as I clambered to my feet, planning to fix the problem with the only method I knew. Using the bed as my support, I made my way over to the fully stocked mini refrigerator in the quaint kitchenette. I swung open the door with a bang and the bottles clattered together noisily. I grabbed a couple from the side pocket and returned to the edge of my bed. Cracking open the seal on a luxurious-looking vodka flask, I made a vengeful toast before letting the liquid fire descend down my throat.

 

“To Louis Tomlinson.”

 

~~~~~

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

My eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep, and I immediately turned away from the soft sunlight streaming through the eyelet lace curtains. I blearily groped the bed for the body that wasn’t there, frowning when I couldn’t pull his warm frame closer to mine. Rolling over onto my backside, I exhaled heavily. A quick twist of my head let me know that it was quarter past six in the morning, and I needed to get dressed in order to be on time for our scheduled breakfast this morning.

 

Everything in my life was laid out perfectly before me, and it seemed that I just couldn’t fit in with the lifestyle. It was like I was the square peg trying to be squeezed into the round hole. I yearned for my younger teenage years, where I could go to the park and not be mobbed, and where my biggest worry was whether or not I was failing maths. But I had chosen this lifestyle, and I was meant to live by it – no matter how much I despised the domination management had over our actions.

 

I was often amazed at how close some of the fans were to being right about their over-controlling tendencies. Some of them had blogs full of rants and speculations regarding the topic; several even minutes off of events that had actually taken place. They knew that management had control over our Twitters, and the mistakes they often made when tweeting from our accounts did not go unnoticed. Because of this, a couple months previous, the lads and I had decided to have a silent rebellion and create Facebook profiles in which a handful of fans could interact with us on a more personal level - without management breathing down our necks. It was wonderful to actually talk to some of our supporters and not have anything scripted beforehand.

 

Thinking of this, I grabbed my I-phone from the see-through glass bedside table and opened up the Facebook application. I carefully typed in my message and checked it over before I clicked the post option.

 

Sometimes I feel like you guys are the only friends I have – thank you for supporting us.

 

Instantaneously, a flood of comments lit the world button ablaze. My inbox exploded with messages, and I smiled as I scrolled through the fans’ responses. Varying from hearts to full-fledged paragraphs, their resilient foundation of love was apparent to me. A grin tugged at the corners of my lips. They loved me and I did too, regardless of all our flaws. But my smile fell as I thought of the one person where my passion for him could not be expressed in any such way. I could never pick up my phone and smile to myself as I posted a heart-warming status, nor could I shout how much I loved him into the streets for everyone to hear.

 

I loved him.

 

My throat constricted as admitted this to myself, a warm thrumming sensation pulsing through me. I thought there was something wrong until I realized the heat was my heart swelling to twice its size like the Grinch’s did. I had finally been able to realize the one thing I had spent endless hours unconsciously denying.

 

I thought of him in the early hours: the cheesy good morning messages that he would send to me; even though his body was laid next to mine, enveloped in the sheets of my bed. I thought of the way his smile would form as I responded – slow, relaxed, and easy. He sometimes even let out a laugh as he read my text, the thickness of his vocal chords heavy with sleep. I thought of how he would never let me leave the bed when I insisted we had to get up in order to avoid Liam lecturing us, becoming unusually possessive and wrapping his arms around my frame, pulling me closer to his warm one. He would sigh when I finally gave in and complied, sending shivers down my spine as his breath would hit the back of my neck. I thought of the way his eyes appeared puffy over the steam of a cup of English breakfast tea, the tired green of them enticing me. I thought of the naturally sweet scent he had when we woke up – unmasked by the spray of his cologne and entirely Harry.

 

I thought of him in the middle hours: the incessant teasing he would make of my younger years, over homemade sandwiches and sweet cups of tea, and the dimple-forming grin that would appear as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I thought of the way he would always find a way to sneak in some sort of junk food to feed my notorious sweet tooth during rehearsals, regardless of the fact that he would never eat any himself. He would bring in a giant chocolate bar and a bottle of water, and we would sit outside the recording studio talking, leaning against the wall while I devoured the candy and he chugged his water. I thought of the countless times how he would try and make me mess up during an important interview – from provoking a loud laugh to nearly seducing me on the spot. Whether it was from a simple graze of his hand on my knee, or pulling an amusing face, he always had me stumbling over my words and glaring at him all the while. He would be able to muddle my train of thought in a single twitch of a muscle.

 

I thought of him in the later hours: the way he would go to all the trouble to put on a pink apron and ridiculously oversized chef hat as he would fix up a bowl of fancy pasta for me that I couldn’t pronounce the name of. He would eagerly clasp his hands together as I would taste his creation, and promptly kiss me on the cheek when I told him I loved it. I thought of the way his face reflected from the soft glow of the candles he insisted on lighting for every dinner, the luminosity of his skin softened with the warm light. I thought of the way he would always disagree with me over what film we would watch that night, blatantly denying my helpful insights and demanding we watch Love Actually for the seven millionth time. And when I would finally agree - after making him promise that we would watch a different film the next time - he would curl up with me on the sofa underneath a warm blanket, quoting the film in hushed whispers with his lips against my ear.

 

I thought of him in the last hour: the way he would strip off his clothes from the current day and leave me to marvel at his perfect frame encased in moonlight, with only a pair of boxer shorts slung low on his hips. I thought of the nights where we would cuddle with one another, his curls tickling my neck as we pressed fervently into each other’s open warmth. I thought of the way his hushed snores would lull me to sleep in the dark, the soft familiarity of them soothing me in a way no other sound could.

 

I thought of him right now. I thought of how I loved him. And I thought of how I needed to fix this.

 

~~~~~~

 

I inhaled slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. But no matter what pathetic excuse I tried to conjure up, the beating would never slow. I raised my hand, readying myself to knock on Harry’s hotel room door and promptly froze. What if he never answered? What would I do if he blatantly ignored my knocking? It was early in the morning – there was a chance he wouldn’t be awake, and want to respond to an anonymous knock on his door.

 

After a few more deep breaths, and silent thanks that no one was around to see my mental breakdown, I proceeded to knock.

 

Silence.

 

I knocked again, harder this time.

 

More silence.

 

“Harry?” I pressed my face against the door as I called to him. Yet again, there was no answer. I fumbled around for the door handle and yanked it downwards. The door refused to budge. “Harry, it’s Louis. Open the door please.”

 

I slipped out our shared room key from my front pocket and jammed it rather impatiently into the slot above the handle. The green light blinked, and I pushed the door open with ease. “Harry? Are you in?”

 

The panic resurfaced after I was met with the gut-wrenching sight.


	15. Chapter 15

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

I found him laid out messily on the hotel room’s polished maple hardwood floors, with bottles scattered haphazardly around his flattened curls. Pooling gold and maroon liquid trickled down from his lips, which were squashed against the ground in an uncomfortable manner. His body seemed to have been crumpled in the menacing hands of alcohol, and then spit back out into a disjointed heap on the floor. The horrid combination of sweat, blood and liquor emitted from his broken frame and soaked my nose in its disgusting scent. I desperately tried not to gag – from the mere sight of his corpse-like body sprawled on the ground, and the horrifying stench that filled the room.

 

My hands shook, and perspiration freckled my brow as I contemplated whether or not he was dead.

 

I couldn’t process the possibility that his eyes would never turn that ecstasy-ridden shade of green, full of life and laughter once more - that if I turned him over, his irises would fall flat with the pigmentation of death. I couldn’t live a second of my life without him in it. I simply could not picture an older me; waking up with someone else sprawled beside me in my bed, tangled in my crinkled sheets with the relaxed style he had. I couldn’t see a future where I couldn’t cry for hours at a time without his presence near to comfort me. I couldn’t imagine that I would be able to love once more. I just couldn’t.

 

I exhaled shakily. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath for a long time until I began to feel faint. Hot, sticky tears rolled in furious rivulets down my cheeks and tucked into the corner of my stricken mouth. Their salty taste was bitter, but yet, I didn’t twitch a single finger to wipe them away. I continued to stare at Harry in shock instead. I could not believe the scene lain out before my very eyes.

 

His body had begun convulsing, his spine arching in a possessed-by-demons way. Earsplitting screams escaped his now fully extended mouth, chilling me to the core. The sound of fabric tearing echoed in my ears as his bloodstained shirt ripped apart. Each individual knob of his spine could be seen, stretched against the tight confines of his blue-tinged skin. It seemed like something was trying to escape from inside Harry, throbbing with an immorality that made my knees tremble in fright. His frame twisted back and forth violently, like a python was wrapping around his neck and choking him to death. It was a fight to the final breath – between Harry and himself. The thing, or the snake in this case, was winning. He suddenly dry-heaved, and the desiccated sound of his gagging broke me out of my trance. I immediately ran to his side, not aware of how loud I was screaming his name – or how I was letting any noise leak from my lips at all.

~~~~~

 

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

White. Everything’s white. There’s nothing in here other than its infinitely dense shade. Suffocating. And to think that I only thought black could swallow you hole.

 

“Am I dreaming?” I wondered aloud, and reached up to scratch my head in concentration – but there was no hand to do so. A flash of panic seized me, and my gaze immediately glanced down to where my lower body should be. The regular lengthy, boot-clad feet were replaced by the whiteness, as were the rest of my legs – kneecaps, calves, thighs – all dissolved into thin air. I tried to twist, to writhe away, but nothing appeared to change.

 

I should’ve been having the sensation of my heart furiously beating from dread by now, but I couldn’t feel anything other than the emotion of anxiety. With this appalling realization, I understood that I was nothing – yet everything in the same instance. I was the white. And it was I.

 

Was this some kind of cruel joke? Or was this a twisted version of heaven? I hadn’t thought I died. I remembered nothing about how I arrived here in the first place – or even where I was. There was only the white, closing in on me from all four sides. I needed help, and fast. I could feel the hysteria rising, choking me, as I became even more claustrophobic. I was on the verge of morphing into one of my worst habits my body had picked up to deal with extreme levels of stress – panic attacks.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I called out, my voice cracking in fear.

 

But the very sound of my question reverberated around the whiteness and rang clearly in my ears as if I was the one receiving the inquiry. It repeated itself three times. The childishness of my trembling voice made me cringe in embarrassment every instance it occurred.

 

I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall to the floor, curl up into a ball and sob until my nose became red, and my eyes grew puffy from the hot tears cascading down my face. I wanted to feel anything but this hysteria-ridden emotion eating me alive, burning me with its flames into the nothing I was. But I couldn’t because I didn’t exist; yet I did simultaneously. The fact was so perplexing, and hard to wrap my brain around that I wanted to rip fistfuls of my hair out. But I couldn’t do that either. So I did the only thing I could.

 

I screamed.

 

And I screamed.

 

I didn’t stop for a breath, for the lack of the need for one without a throat, continuing to let my emotions flow and ebb out through the tortured sounds. The very notes of them should’ve sent my skin prickling with goose bumps and all the hair to rise on the base of my neck, but instead, I felt nothing. For the decibels of sound I was making, surely I could’ve felt their power radiating off of me. But there was nothing in this whiteness. Absolutely nothing. And so I continued to scream.

 

It was not the tiredness or lack of power I should’ve felt that stopped me, but it seemed suitable that I should after awhile. I don’t know for how long I listened to the agonized ringing sound of my shrieks echoing around the whiteness, as I had no way of telling how much time had passed.

 

Once they subsided into mere whispers, I willed myself to let go. To stop the panic that clawed at me with vicious knives. Spreading calm throughout whatever I was, I relaxed into the whiteness – into me. A warm emotion dispersed throughout the white and embraced me cordially. I don’t know what the emotion was – I was at fault for even recalling who I was – but I certainly enjoyed the pleasure that seemed to cease the madness from before. It was as if something had wiped away the restricting sensation of the whiteness, and turning it from a hated foe to an old friend. I felt like laughing out loud from the joy that engulfed me.

 

A sudden, momentous vision of blue appeared before me like a movie screen. Breaking through the whiteness, and crackling at the edges as if fire was eating its edges, the sky-blue colour glowed with warmth. It was familiar somehow, the depth of its startlingly alluring colour drawing me towards it like we were two magnets adjoining together. I knew that it was the source of the happiness I felt, and that I had somehow conjured it out of a memory I didn’t recall having.

 

“Louis,” the name slipped out into the whiteness without any effort.

 

Only then had I wished I hadn’t said anything.

~~~~~

 

As abruptly as if someone had hit a play button, the whiteness disappeared. I was thrown into a scene with lush grass and wildflowers, and red dirt that stained my feet like blood. I extended a leg to step down and, the familiar sensation of moving forward sent joyful tingles up my right leg. I shrieked, without fear, but with joy this time. I could feel my body once more! I twirled around in a circle, my arms held out horizontally like wings. I spun carelessly, and the wind tickled the hairs on the bare skin.

 

Out of the corner of my peripheral vision, I saw a familiar smirking figure standing a few feet away. I immediately stopped my childish spin, my cheeks burning in mortification as the short frame let out a sweetly condescending laugh. The figure crossed his lean, tanned arms over his crinkled striped shirt as he shook his head.

 

“Loser,” he said with a grin.

 

“Twat,” I threw over my shoulder as I turned away to hide my blush.

 

I could hear the soft, rhythmic thudding of his footsteps when he came closer to me and then wrapped himself around me. We both exhaled at the gentle sign of affection – him pressing into my back with his arms encircling my torso, and my hands playing loosely with his as I leaned into his support. He dropped his head into the crook of my shoulder, his caramel fringe tickling my neck. For a while it was just us and the soothing crashing of the waves against the rocks below. I had never felt more at peace than I did now.

 

“Please don’t leave,” I whispered breathlessly, “I don’t want you to – ever.”

 

His head jerked up abruptly from my shoulder, and he spun me around to face him. The blue eyes that once were sparkling were now wet with moisture. “I don’t want to either,” he reached up to trail his hand down my cheek. His irises hardened, “But this is a nightmare, and I must.”

 

He sprinted away from me as his words sunk in, leaving me with the ghostly tingles of where his arms once were. “Louis!” I screamed over the now howling wind, “don’t leave me here!”

 

“I have to Harry – I’m so sorry!” He then pitched himself off the cliff, gravity eagerly pulling his body down towards the jagged black rocks.

 

I ran, though I knew in my heart I was much too late. Screaming his name in a frantic mantra, I approached the cliff’s edge. The cracking sound of his bones splitting apart was one I’d never forget – the loud snapping noises ringing in my ears for hours afterwards. I scarcely had enough time to peer over the rim of red sand in horror at his now disjointed, pale frame one last time before I was transported into a rainy London scene.

~~~~~

 

The street was familiar, and I recognized it from one of the earlier nightmares where I was pedaling furiously through the rain on my rusty old bike. In fact, now that I thought about it, the red cliff side scene was from the very first hallucination. My stomach rumbled uneasily at this realization and I fought to keep the bile rising at the back of my throat. I would have to endure the pain of Louis dying repeatedly in front of my very eyes.

 

Swallowing nervously, I pulled up the hood of the raincoat that had magically appeared on my body. The relentless onslaught of the raindrops pouring from the overcast sky didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. They trailed down the flattened ivy on the side of the shops lining the left side of the road and pooled into a massive black puddle on the pavement below. I shivered, and peered through my wet eyelashes to find him. Plenty of rain-soaked cars splashed by, spewing murky rainwater all over my slick jeans. I didn’t care. I started to walk through the nearly empty streets, sloshing through miniature lakes with my numb toes.

 

“Louis!” I called repeatedly. The pedestrians looked at me oddly – a crying, bleary-eyed mess stumbling over my too big feet on the raindrop-splattered sidewalk. I ignored them. “Louis! I know you’re out there! Louis!! LOUIS!” Hot, angry tears rolled down my cheeks, combining with the icy raindrops in a wet mess. I would never find him. Sniffing, I wrapped my arms myself in a gesture of comfort. I continued to pace up and down the streets, prowling through the heavy storm and disregarding the dumbfounded stares sent my way.

 

After hours had passed, and the large hunter green clock in the central square read half past seven, I was ready to give up. Shivering from the early stages of hypothermia and beyond being numb, I dragged my weary body into a quaint teashop I had passed multiple times.

 

The warmth of the store enveloped me in a comforting hug as I stepped inside. There was an older woman behind the register, her curly greying hair reaching just past her earlobes. She smiled cordially at me, the heavy-set crinkles in the corners of her milk chocolate eyes prominent. When I stuttered through my attempt to order a cup of sweet tea, she let out a small chuckle and guided me to a worn out table with handmade wicker chairs surrounding it. She placed a steaming cup before me and smiled. Plopping one of the sugar cubes scattered around the plate into the tea, I wrapped my shaking hands around the large cup thankfully. After my aching throat eagerly consumed the majority of the sweet liquid, the lady returned. She placed a rolled up paper bag into my hands and smiled again.

 

“For the road. Be safe young man – it’s quite cold out there.”

 

My lips pulled upwards in thanks and I gently placed a crumpled twenty on the table.

 

“No, no – it’s my treat. It looks like you’re having a rough night…take it as a gift from me.”

 

I looked into her eyes doubtfully, “Are you sure? I feel bad-”

 

She cut me off, “Nonsense! Don’t be worrying about that, you need to take care of yourself first! Have a good night young lad,” she waved as I opened the door.

 

“Thank-you ma’am,” I threw over my shoulder with a smile as I stepped back out into the ambush of heavy rain. My attention was soon directed to the scene before me. An unsuspecting hooded figure was pedaling away from the van roaring behind them. The sound of squealing tires filled my ears, and I flinched as the dreadful noise occurred once more. “Louis!”

~~~~

 

Louis’s body had been tormented by my imagination; crumpled and beaten over the jagged rocks emerging from the bloodstained holes in his shirt; dislocated like the broken bike discarded beside him; hunched over in grief, covered with grains of sand; laying lifeless on the hospital bed, his skin a sickly blue; burnt with black charcoal stains smeared on his charred cheeks. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

 

I begged for the white. I prayed for the desolation and total emptiness. I wanted the suffocating feeling to return, and the insanity that came with the claustrophobia I experienced – anything but this. The challenge that it presented was futile in its attempts to crush me when contrasted with the nightmares. I didn’t want to see anything anymore – it was too much. I could not deal with the torture of him dying before me again. And again. And again.

 

I took to screaming once more. I refused to look for him, as he’d always find a way to decease right before my bloodshot eyes. Instead, I unleashed blood-curling noises from my savaged lips. My mind was a hazardous jumble of thoughts, but one distinct mantra stood out from the rest: LouisLouisLouis.

 

He was the only one who could help me escape this torturous agony – I was finished with trying to save him.

~~~~~~

 

LOUIS’ P.O.V

 

Harry’s body trembled as if he had inserted his hands into a live electric socket, and his disheveled sweaty curls bounced wildly. His lips parted and closed, as if he was trying to form a word, but the only sounds escaping his mouth were strangled screams. I hadn’t a clue what to do. He was obviously in immense pain, and there seemed to be nothing I could do to fix it. I had tried calling his name, creating a racket with the pots slung around the room, and pouring water on his crumpled face – but nothing had worked.

 

Upon impulse, I grabbed him around the waist, ignoring the sharp jabs his protesting fists made with my body. “Easy! Easy now Haz,” I soothed him, my voice comforting. I tightened my hold on him, gripping his sides in the fashion we would cuddle together on those cold, dreary nights. I rested my head on his chest, the frantic pounding of his heart echoing in my skull. His pulse began to decrease slightly as I continued to hold his body flush with mine. I sighed, and willed my breathing to take a consistent rate. Even while he was unconscious and having nightmares, Harry still managed to send tingles shooting up my spine. He was able to unsettle the nerves in the pit of my stomach and send them fluttering like an array of butterflies – something Eleanor could never do with a simple touch.

 

I glanced up at his face quickly. The pained wrinkles that had etched their way onto his skin were slowly being smoothed away, and his lips were much more relaxed than they had been moments before. I pushed back a couple of mattered curls stuck to his forehead into their natural place, marveling at the smooth texture of the chocolate ringlets. My fingers lingered on them, twirling the soft hair around gently. Before I had any second thoughts, I spontaneously placed my lips on the hot skin where the curls had just been. I felt him shiver beneath me, and my eyes flicked downwards.

 

To my disappointment, he hadn’t awakened, revealing the jade green eyes I adored so much. But, he had definitely stirred, and that was a start. No longer were the shrieks coming through his blood red lips, nor were his limbs flinging around wildly.

 

I placed my lips on the smooth contours of his cheekbone, letting them linger on the pallid skin. I trailed soft kisses down the sides of his face, feeling him relax beneath my gentle touch. “I love you,” I whispered faintly; so quietly I could barely hear my hushed voice. And then my eager lips descended down onto his.

 

Harry’s eyes flickered open.


	16. Chapter 16

HARRY’S P.O.V

 

Something warm was touching me. Pressing up against my lips to be more specific. It spread a low, smoldering heat through my entire body that travelled from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I felt fleeting sensations of nerves tingling in my belly as the pressure increased. The intensity of the flame inside me grew, but it wasn’t unpleasant or uncomfortable. If anything, it left me feeling thirsty with various shades of desire. I felt the unmistakable urge to slam my weight against the force and match the passion with a fevered one of my own. To intertwine myself with whatever was sending the dangerously satisfying tingles down the ridge of my spine. I wanted to kiss back what was kissing me.

 

I fought against the depressing weight of my dream, focusing entirely on removing the black from my vision. Bit by bit, the dark chunks fell off, leaving gaping holes in its thick veil. I tried to concentrate on the tanned colour filling my eyes, but was at a loss as to what the soft hue was a part of. The remaining murky spots left my vision blurry and unfocused. I blinked, removing the last tattered remains of my sleep from my eyes. Only then did I finally realize what was in front of me.

 

He was the epitome of a cherub – one that had been spending time outside in the sun. His eyelids were closed, purpled with lack of sleep. Dark, luscious eyelashes sprouted from his smooth lids and rested delicately on his cheekbones. His creamy skin was flushed with tinges of light pink that spread down his sharply angled jaw. He looked perfectly blissful. But, out of all the beautiful features filling my vision, the best were the familiar thin lips that I couldn’t see - as they were pressed against mine.

 

He blinked, revealing ice blue eyes that widened when they met mine. He ripped away from my arms and hastily detangled himself from our tight embrace. The distance still growing between us, he backed away from me, trembling in fear.

 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered as his knees shook violently, “I went t-too far. I should’ve n-never put y-you in that p-position. It was wrong of m-me.”

 

I took in the sight of Louis’ shaking frame, which appeared to have shrunken half a foot. He was half-curled into a ball, pressed into the furthest corner of the hotel room away from me, quivering as tremors rattled his vulnerable figure. He looked so small, so frightened of my reaction. A lopsided smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as a brief thought crossed my mind. I began to walk towards him.

 

He pressed himself tighter into the corner with every stride I took towards his cowering form. I must have looked like a mental patient, with a ridiculously wide smile plastered on my face, but the motives of my actions were ones I had fought to restrain for so long. There was no one here to interrupt, and I was taking full advantage of the situation. And thus, my grin grew, as I thought of what was going to take place in mere seconds. I took another step.

 

He smelt lovely up close; the enticing combination of musk, mint, and Louis rolled up into one savory scent. My nose twitched appreciatively as I inhaled. I placed my hands on top of his, my long, thin fingers overlapping his short ones. He looked at me curiously, the fear slowly ebbing away from his glistening blue eyes. My hands slid up lethargically to encase his wrists, and then continued their slow ascent up towards the crook of his elbows. My fingers skimmed over his thick biceps, stopping to pinch one playfully, before resting them on his broad shoulders. He cracked a smile, staring at me with an indescribable emotion I couldn’t read. I resisted the strong urge to smile back, and instead bit down, hard, on my bottom lip. My hands traced the veins on his neck, feeling his shudders from my trailing fingers as I reached up to cup his jaw gingerly.

 

“Don’t feel bad,” I cooed, lightly brushing the stubble from his jawline that bit into my fingers with a feather-soft touch, “You have nothing to be sorry of.”

 

I stared into his eyes, their cerulean colour swirling before me. I was sure of my decision. “Kiss me.”

 

Any of the anxiety that had spread its way across his delicate features dropped in that single instant, his mouth forming a round black hole of perplexity and confusion. He didn’t even blink – he just stood, rooted to the ground with shock.

 

I placed both of my large hands underneath his chin, and slowly pushed it upwards, back into the regular position. “I said kiss me, you fool.”

 

His gaze burned my paper-thin skin, obliterating through the pale softness with the heat of his intense stare, and straight into me. He seemed to be pondering something – turning an idea over in his mind and trying to make sense of it. He wore the expression he always displayed when concentrating: his brow furrowed low over his troubled eyes, the three small wrinkles coiling into deep lines by the right side of his nose, and his lower lip becoming a deep maroon colour due to the violent biting it endured. Exhibiting the picture of what I considered to be beautiful, there was nothing in that moment I wanted to do more than place chaste kisses on his rosy-tinted lips.

 

“I can’t.”

 

A pang of confusion ran though my body and my detailed scrutiny of his irresistibly alluring lips immediately flicked upwards to focus on his eyes. Wide with fear, the clear blue sparkled in his irises. But his pupils grew as I placed my forehead against his, my curls tickling his temple.

 

“You can’t?” I breathed, leaving hot and heavy air to plague the short gap between us with heat. His pupils dilated until they nearly covered the cerulean colour of his irises entirely, and I could see myself reflected in their velvety black shade. I saw the lust that lingered there, and the reflection of the triumphant grin that tugged at my lips before I carefully placed them over his.

 

If I had thought the temperature running through me was hot when we had brushed lips before in his kitchen, then I must have been sadly mistaken. This feeling right now was unlike any other I had experienced before in my life. Burning flames ripped through my body, sending raging heat down towards my lower region. It burned with a fiery passion that I could feel was radiating off of me and into him through our connected lips.

 

We had started off gentle, careful even, tentatively pressing our lips together. It was unlike any girl I had kissed before. His mouth was firmer, and more structured. My lips didn’t swallow my partner’s as they normally would, but rather held their shape against his like interlocking puzzle pieces. I experimented with this new and rather delightful sensation, increasing and then sharply decreasing the pressure on his lips. He groaned in protest every time I lessened the force of the kiss, and ended up having to knot his fingers in my hair to hold me tightly to him. He began massaging my scalp in teasingly slow circles. His fingers tugged and pulled on my brown ringlets, causing the reaction of my lips to part against his as I moaned in pleasure. When I simply couldn’t bear his excruciatingly arousing actions any longer, I decided to flip the switch and take control once more. I used my long, muscled arms to my advantage, and firmly wrapped them around his small torso. I slowly let them drift down to his bum and linked my hands together underneath it. I squeezed his butt gently, but still hard enough to make him squeal into the kiss. I laughed into his mouth, smiling against his lips.

 

And that’s when things got a lot more heated. He ground his hips into mine, catching me off guard with his bold movement, and I yelped in surprise. I pressed my lips harder against his, determined to kiss every single inch of his mouth. I nibbled on his lower lip, wanting to leave them swollen, puffy, and completely mine. I broke off our kiss, to place swift pecks on the prickly stubble adorning his sharp-edged jawline. Moving downwards onto his neck, I teased the sensitive skin near his collarbone, my tongue darting out to wet the soft, tanned material. He groaned and pressed harder against me. I smirked against his neck and then proceeded to leave the ultimate mark of dominance. I fabricated love bites in a frantic pattern, blooming from his jutting collarbones to his neck, the purple and red bruises they left filling me with satisfaction. I sucked and teased his skin lethargically on purpose, making futile protests whimper through his lips, asking for me to stop.

 

“Sorry,” I grinned devilishly, before he impatiently grabbed the base of my neck and pulled his lips to mine once more.

 

~~~~~ 

We lost track of time, too caught up in the other to realize that the morning had quickly turned to afternoon, and that we were supposed to be at a meeting with the other lads. I don’t know exactly when we stopped, but it most likely had something to do with the furious pounding on the door.

 

Immediately, we broke apart in shock. I scrambled to the other side of the bed we had somehow made our way on to and gazed at him in fear. He looked back at me, and shrugged his shoulders to explain how he didn’t know who could be at the door. I exhaled nervously.

 

The knocking began again, the familiar three beat pattern of Liam’s rapping resounding through the room.

 

“Shit!” we exclaimed in unison, and Louis desperately groped around the floor for a shirt that would cover the blatantly obvious hickeys now splattered across his neck. I re-adjusted my pants, pulling them further up on my hips. I tugged at my t-shirt and ran a hand through my curls, trying to make it look less like the unruly mess of hair that was styled using a very particular method. But the turbulent clump of thick ringlets kept poking through the slats in between my fingers. I needed something to cover them up, and fast.

 

As if he had read my mind, Louis asked, “Beanie?” he offered a plain army green hat in his outstretched arm.

 

I gratefully took the beanie from his hand and smoothed it over my hair. “Scarf?” He nodded sharply, and I tossed the mass of woolen fabric towards him. It hit him square in the face and a laugh tumbled from my lips at his unimpressed expression. There was a barely audible beep as he hastily wrapped my scarf around his neck, and the sound of someone fumbling with the lock.

 

My gaze immediately grabbed Louis’, and I shot him a warning look for him to remain calm. Rolling his eyes, he straightened his spine from where he was perched on top of the bed and promptly dropped his folded hands into his lap in the mannerism of a sulking schoolboy. He winked at me as the door swung open.

 

Liam was the first to step in, and his nose instantaneously wrinkled in disgust. He was followed by an equally revolted Zayn, and a cheerful Niall with a burger grasped in his hand.

 

“Oh God!” Liam exclaimed, covering his nose with the thin fabric of his top, “what is that wretched smell?!”

 

As Zayn’s face contorted into an expression of repugnance, I remembered the broken bottles scattered around the room, and the blood-strewn liquor in pools on the floor. It seemed as if a tornado had ripped through the hotel room, and left garbage in its wake. Oops.

 

After a long period of silence, Niall finally voiced the question all of us were waiting to hear: “What in the world went on here?”

 

Louis glanced sideways at me knowingly, a faint blush kissing his cheeks before responding, “The young and ever-foolish Harry decided to go on a drinking rampage last night, and I found him this morning splayed out on the floor over there,” he pointed to a large puddle of blood and alcohol, the maroon and gold creating a harsh contrast on my eyes.

 

Three boys turned to look at me in shock, each mouth hanging slack with disbelief. Niall’s eyes scanned over me, searching my body for any possible gashes that could have created the massive amount of red liquid on the hardwood floor. Zayn’s face wrinkled up in a pained expression of worry, his golden cat-like orbs burning into mine with an unspoken question. But Liam had to be the worst of them all. His face turned various sickening hues of green and then merged into a bright, angry red before settling for a deep purple tone of rage that spread itself along his cheeks. I had never seen him so provoked and consumed by fury before, and it made my hands tremble slightly looking at his enraged appearance. I was about to open my mouth to voice a meek apology before he spoke.

 

“And the thought of him needing medical attention never crossed your mind Louis?” he spat angrily, his fists clenched by his sides. “Do you see the amount of blood on the floor - do you?! What did you spend the rest of the morning doing then – fist fighting for a laugh? Tell me Louis, please, because I’d like to know WHAT ON EARTH runs through your mind half of the time when you make decisions!!”

 

Louis looked like a turtle that had shrunken into its shell, plagued by the fear of the outside world. His lips trembled, and an embarrassed flush of deep scarlet was smeared across his cheeks. A single tear welled in the corner of his eye and his remorseful blue irises glistened with moisture. He was the puppy, and Liam had just kicked him.

 

This dawned on Liam, all colour draining from his face. “Louis, I’m so-”

 

“Don’t even start,” Louis cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand, “Don’t say another word.”

 

The room fell eerily silent, the tension crackling in the air like someone had lit a match and dropped it on to a puddle of gasoline. I could hear my own raspy breathing echoing heavily in my ear.

 

“I see the blood on the floor. I see the bottles. I’m seeing exactly what you’re seeing right now. But the difference between us is you didn’t see what I saw this morning. You didn’t see Harry, with his face pressed into the ground, still as a statue, with blood pooling around him like someone had stabbed him. You didn’t think that someone you love unconditionally was dead. You didn’t watch as he then began convulsing like a demon had possessed his body, shaking all over. You didn’t hear his bloodcurdling screams escaping his mouth, like something was trying to rip itself out of his body. You didn’t hear the sound of death coming from the one you love’s lips. You didn’t see it. You didn’t experience it. You don’t know what it was like. Trust me, if Harry was dead, then I would be too. I do not want to live a life without him in it. I could not bear the fact that he wouldn’t be alive anymore. I cannot deal with it.

 

“In that instant, of course I was thinking of his safety, Liam. It was the only thing on my mind. If Harry isn’t fine, then I’m not. But how am I supposed to move a convulsing nineteen-year-old boy down thirty-six flights of stairs without getting mobbed by fans with hundreds of questions? Enlighten me, Liam, please – I’d love to know how you’d solve that problem. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I kissed Harry.”

 

If I had thought that the room was quiet before, I was wrong. A prolonged silence swallowed any words that could’ve been spoken with its smothering thickness. It hung in the air like a blanket of freshly fallen snow that nobody wanted to trudge through, because it was too deep. Everyone was lost in thought, taking in all the events of the past few minutes gradually.

 

I snuck a glance to my right at Louis, taking in the way his eyes shone with a zealous light. His cheeks were luminous from the dried up rivers his tears had carved into his skin, and his lips were an enticing scarlet red. He was breathtaking. He was simply breathtaking, and I loved him. I don’t think any combination of all the letters in any language could explain a fraction of the emotion that rose in me like a tide whenever his name was uttered. He had had complete control over me from that fateful day we met in the X-Factor men’s room. So I would continue to say that I loved him, even though the three words could never do my passion for him the justice it deserved.

 

“He took care of me – always does,” I broke the silence, slowly, after what seemed like hours, my voice cracking on ‘he’ with emotion. I reached over to lace my fingers with his, and rubbed my thumb soothingly over the back of his hand when our limbs intertwined together. He looked at me, a bittersweet smile matching the cheerful wetness in his eyes. I leaned over towards his ear, like I had countless times before, and whispered the eight letters in his patiently awaiting ear. He immediately enveloped me in a tight hug. I could hardly breathe, but it didn’t matter, because Louis was wrapped around me, and I was exactly where I wanted to be.

 

And as his lips pressed against my cheek for a brief, chaste kiss, whispering the words back on to my skin, Niall, Zayn, and Liam shared a knowing look.

 

I was finally home.


	17. Epilouge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTICE: This Epilogue is now told through third person!! Enjoy :)
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> fiveboysxtheworld xx.

“Tell me about the nightmares.”

 

It was a drizzly Sunday morning in London, and Harry was leaning against the marble countertop in his flat, pouring steaming hot water into an awaiting teacup when Louis asked.

 

He swore quietly under his breath as his hand jerked and the water splattered all over his baggy t-shirt. The heat burned his skin through the thin, white material.

 

Pretending he hadn’t heard Louis’ voice, Harry readjusted his grip on the glass teapot and poured the water smoothly into another cup. The teabag rose to the top, the sweet aroma of the herbs tickling his nose. He opened the wooden cabinet above him and stretched for the sugar jar he kept on the highest shelf to prevent Louis from eating the cubes raw. He plopped two into each cup and stirred wearily.

 

He padded barefoot across the hardwood floors of the kitchen and into the small area they called “The Lounge”. Large, glass windows framed by cream curtains spread from wall to wall on the one side, exposing a bird’s eye view of London. Big Ben stood sullenly in the distance, seeming to droop like the pedestrians below in the foggy rain. The dark clouds cast shadows over the white-walled room.

 

Louis took his cup gratefully from Harry’s outstretched hand and nodded in thanks. Harry waved off the acknowledgement and sank into his favourite chair, a plush red-leathered one that was tucked in the corner beside the shelves of books. He took long sips of his sweet tea, pausing only to gaze at the spray of grey rainwater trickling down the windows.

 

“It’s miserable out there,” Harry whispered so quietly Louis had to lean forwards to catch his words.

 

Louis nodded in agreement, not sure what to say. He wasn’t used to this version of Harry with the closed-off, secretive behaviour and pained expression. It only happened when he mentioned what had happened just over a year ago. Harry would seem to drown in his thoughts and only resurfaced from his pool of misery when Louis wrapped his body around his.

 

“And, if you want me to tell you about miserable things, then outside is the perfect place to do it,” Harry finished his spoken thought, his nervous eyes darting cautiously over to meet Louis’. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. I think…I think I’m finally ready to tell you.”

 

Louis blinked in astonishment and froze. In a flash, Harry had stood up and begun to retreat into the kitchen like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

Louis jumped up and grabbed Harry’s hand in desperation. “It’s fine! It’s fine – it’s more than fine – if you want to…tell me, you know,” he stuttered, trying to grasp where on earth this bit of confidence in the midst of Harry’s deepest fears had emerged from.

 

He hadn’t the slightest clue, but was thankful for it regardless.

 

Louis gently pressed his parted lips to Harry’s forehead. “You can tell me anything,” he breathed.

 

Harry’s jade eyes softened, the edge of fear ebbing away and being replaced by an affectionate smolder. “I love you, you know that?”

 

“I know,” Louis said, smirking. “How could you not love this masterpiece of class carved by the hands of Gods?”

 

Harry lightly slapped his face, laughing when Louis gaped at him opened-mouthed. “Yes - I just hit you,” he answered his unstated question, grinning mischievously. “And for your information, those must’ve been some lousy Gods.”

 

“Harry Edward Styles!” Louis exclaimed, his jaw still hanging slack in shock. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

 

Louis’ cheeks tinged pink as Harry smiled lopsidedly, revealing half a set of perfect teeth as he laughed.

 

“Fortunately, I did.” Harry lightly pressed his puffy lips against Louis’ thin ones. Louis leaned into the kiss, brushing the tip of his tongue delicately across Harry’s lower lip. Harry parted his lips to allow him more access and sighed as Louis’ tongue dipped gently into his mouth.

 

They continued on that way for a few minutes, basking in the company of one another and the way that their tongues danced together frivolously. It didn’t get much more heated than that, each boy holding themselves back from making the kiss fervent when they remembered Harry’s awaited confession. Of course, a stray moan or two may have escaped their needy mouths, and Louis’ hands may have come up to knot themselves in Harry’s curls, but the two broke away a bit later, flushed red and pleased with one another.

 

“So, about that trip outside?” Louis gestured to the flat’s front door questioningly.

 

Harry nodded, flipping his curls back into place and coughing slightly. “Sure. I guess we sort of got…” he blushes, embarrassed, “um, distracted.” Harry twiddled awkwardly with his thumbs and turned his toes in.

 

Louis just tilted his head back and laughed.

 

~~~~

 

Twenty minutes later found Harry and Louis wrapped up tightly in spring jackets and light cable-knit jumpers, with the heat blasting through the vents of Harry’s sleek black car. London - a blur of flashing lights and grey fog - was passing by at an alarmingly fast rate as the car sailed effortlessly through the streets. Louis fiddled with the dial of the radio; changing through the stations so quickly that Harry had to reach over and slap his hand playfully to stop the horrid static noise coming from the speakers.

 

“Plug this in.”

 

Harry kept one hand on the wheel, but used the other to pull out a black I-phone from his back pocket of his jeans. Louis clasped the cool metal with his fingers. He slid the auxiliary jack into the top of the phone and into the speakers. Both boys sighed as Louis hit “play” and Harry’s obscure, yet comforting, music washed over them. Harry intertwined their hands, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of the back of his hand. Louis closed his eyes in content, and drifted off into a light slumber.

 

He was awakened by Harry’s hand smoothing back his uncombed fringe. He sat up, confused. The unfamiliar scenery of thick, skyscraper-like mossy green trees surrounding them refused to spark recognition in his memory.

 

“Where are we?” Louis asked, wide eyed with perplexity.

 

Harry smiled. “We’re at the place I always go to clear my mind. I thought this would be an, um, appropriate spot to tell you about the…things.” He cleared his throat and nervously tugged on the collar of his thick, white jumper.

 

Louis nodded and sat up from his slouched position against the car’s window. He tugged on his tan jacket and opened the door. Immediately after he put a foot down on the soggy ground, what seemed to be a bucket-full of water rained down on his head. He threw up the hood of his jacket, and followed Harry’s mass of curls as they disappeared into the forest.

 

The two young men walked for a while, breathing in the smells of wet pine and the wildflowers adorning the sides of the path they travelled on. The rain made a soft whooshing noise when the droplets collided with the canopy of trees above them. Louis exhaled, relaxed. Even though the sun wasn’t shining, there was something wonderful about the way the forest looked, gleaming from the rain coating the plants.

 

Eventually Harry veered off the marked trail and slipped through a tangle of bushes. He turned around, beckoning Louis to follow him.

 

Louis’ sneakers sank into the watery ground, and with each step he took, the bottom of his jeans were sprayed with mud. He pushed away the branches of a forsythia plant, small red lines appearing on his palms from the contact. He carried on following Harry, until the bushes became further apart, seeming to spread away from each other to make a passageway for the clearing nearly visible beyond the tall silhouette of the curly-haired boy. It was there where they stopped.

 

Louis sat down on a fallen log, relieving his aching legs. Harry rested on the other end opposite to him. They stayed like that for a while: Louis practically bursting from curiosity, but having to swallow the questions that burned his tongue, and Harry, staring down at his hands folded in his lap, trying to muster up enough courage to speak the words tucked in the corner of his heart.

 

“I don’t know exactly when they started – it seemed like they had always been there once they did.”

 

Louis chewed his lip furiously to stop the sound of excitement from escaping his mouth. He had been waiting much too long for this moment.

Harry gazed at him quickly, then dropped eye contact, and continued tentatively, “I was…confused at first. It didn’t make sense to me why I was having these dreams. I couldn’t understand why you were at the center of everything either – I mean, you were my best mate, but I didn’t think of you in that way. But, as they continued to happen every time I closed my eyes, I begin to question myself. Was I gay? It was such a laughable thought at the time – impossible to even consider it. I’d never been attracted to anyone of the same sex before, so how could I be all of a sudden? And I had known you for years - it wasn’t like some incredibly attractive man had walked past me on the street and I became flustered immediately – it was my best mate I was talking about here.”

 

Harry broke off, locking eyes with Louis before speaking once again. “But these dreams weren’t some random, horny hook-up where we were making-out or something like that. They…they were…petrifying. I was forced to watch these sick, cruel scenes where there was two boys separated by these obstacles that ended up leaving one, or both, dead in the end. As I’m guessing you already know, I was one of the boys, and you were the other. It was terrible enough watching you die in front of my eyes, let alone having it happen to me every single night. Even the occasional day-mare would haunt me too. And so, every time I closed my eyes, there you were: bleeding on a ship’s deck, choking on smoke from a fire, blue and brittle on a hospital bed – the list never ended. They haunted me, Louis, they really did. I didn’t know what to do to stop it.

 

“I began interrogating myself with questions about my feelings for you and how they were changing. Everything was out of my grasp and I couldn’t seem to control anything in my life anymore. I didn’t know what to think – let alone feel. When you broke things off with Eleanor, there was this stupid spark of hope that lit up in me, hoping that I might actually have a chance of being with you in the way the boys were in the nightmares. There were so many times that we almost…kissed. I was frustrated with myself after every missed opportunity - that I didn’t just go for it, and that I would even think of doing such a thing to my best mate.

 

“Somewhere in between those rough, sleepless nights, my resistance at denying my feelings towards you slowly disintegrated. I was in love with you – there was no point in convincing myself otherwise any longer. But I was crushed with every day that presented itself to me; you didn’t show a single sign that you returned my desires. And so I forced myself, as painful as it was, to ignore you, to become impassive and to not laugh at your jokes. I told myself it was easier that way, that maybe I could…get over you somehow.”

 

Harry breathed heavily, his eyes shining with emotion. “You crushed me that night in the kitchen. Your words, “I just can’t…do this right now” repeated on a loop in my head for months afterwards. All I could feel was white-hot embarrassment and shame. Shame for even thinking that I could’ve kissed you. Shame for even thinking you loved me back in the first place. And so, acting on pure stupidity, I drank myself into oblivion. The nightmare afterwards was beyond excruciating. White; it was all white and I was nothing – everything was nothing and nothing was everything. But as I begged to be freed from the white-hell, I was thrown into something much worse: a repeat of every single nightmare I ever had that involved you. I never thought I would escape. The pain was intense and I was faltering in my reserve.

It was only until you came and saved me that I regained consciousness. I then realized how much of an idiot I was. You loved me, even if neither of us knew it.”

 

A prolonged silence fell over the forest as Harry finally exhaled. The rain seemed to cease, the wind halted and the trees stood tautly.

 

There wasn’t the need for any words, as Louis’ arms clasped around Harry’s waist, drawing him in like a ship headed for its harbor.


End file.
